Stages of Acceptance
by timeisfleeting
Summary: She knows the meaning of guilt, shame. But can he teach her the meaning of acceptance? Modernday, EC.
1. Not So Innocent A Child

**Disclaimer- I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any associated characters/music. I also do not own the song "Queen of Hollywood". That belongs to The Corrs.  
Note by the author- You said "Go Ahead!" So here I go.  
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** Not So Innocent A Child**

**Erik**

Carlotta was giving him a headache. Well, that was only to be expected except that now the damned _managers_ were trying to console her.

He hated it when they did that.

"I vill not seeng dis song! Eet goes too 'igh! Eet does not flatter my voice!" The managers, Andre and Firmin, hastened to assure her that her voice was lovely no matter what the song was.

Erik stepped in as Carlotta swelled, about to indulge in a full-fledged tantrum. "Nor does your voice flatter it, Madame, but as I have no one else to play the lead, I shall be forced to put up with you. Do not make my job any more difficult! I did not come to work today to humor a spoiled brat"

And- wonder of wonders- she shut up. True, her face turned a rather unhealthy shade of red and she was gaping like a fish, but at least she was no longer shouting at the top of her screechy voice. _Finally. _Erik smiled coldly at her. "Thank you. Now, ladies, gentlemen. If we may continue?"

Two hours, three swearing stage hands, one shouting match and two indignant managers later, Erik called a halt. "Jean, you take that turn to early, Robert, Marco, you sing in unison with the rest of the chorus, do you understand? That was adequate. I'll see you all again tomorrow. Same time."

With sighs of relief, the cast and crew trailed out of the theatre. Nadir Khan made his way to Erik's side. "You know they were more than adequate, Erik."

"I'm perfectly aware of that, Nadir. I am also aware that to say so would give me nothing but swelled heads to work with. And one of those is enough."

"Madame Carlotta giving you problems?"

He growled. "Little Prima Donna. I'm going to strangle her one of these days."

Nadir chuckled at his expression. "I know several convenient ways to make her disappear. The police would never know"

"Would you, Nadir?" Erik asked hopefully, only half-joking.

Nadir laughed. "Yes, but you need her for your opera, Erik. I'm off to find a cafe. See you later."

Erik rubbed his temple. God, his head was pounding. He wondered whether he felt like eating out. A cafe. Coffee.

Caffeine.

A cafe suddenly sounded like a very good idea.

**Christine**

She walked into the cafe. "Morning, Lila." The matronly looking woman at the counter smiled. "Morning, Christine. Small crowd tonight"

Christine settled on the small platform and began to tune her guitar. "They'll be packed in here in a few hours, Lila."

Lila smiled at the petite singer, head bent in concentration upon her instrument. Her auburn hair glowed in the soft lighting, her white hands were a stark contrast to the golden wood. For a moment the girl almost smiled. Lila switched on the speakers that would allow the singer's voice to carry outside in the plaza. "They certainly will, Christine. They certainly will."

**Erik**

He strolled through the plaza in no particular hurry, hands in his pockets against the winter chill. Around him people laughed and hurried inside. Couples had taken a few benches, nursing their coffees and talking in low voices. Faces were flushed, voices raised in high good humor.

_Christmas. _Erik shook his head. It did the oddest things to people.

A wistful voice drifted from the speakers outside of a cafe. Erik turned, hardly daring to believe it. The guitar playing was skilled, but the voice drew him like a moth to the flame to the small, crowded cafe.

He made his way inside, taking a seat in the corner, raised, with a decent view of the singer.

More than a decent view. Erik stared.

It wasn't that she was particularly odd-looking. It wasn't even that she was exceptionally beautiful. It was the music, how she immersed herself in it, slim fingers lovingly stroking the strings. The rest of the room had been dimmed, the lighting was on her. She shone under it, auburn hair like a flaming sunset against her pale skin. Her eyes were dark, glowing like embers. The only word he could think to describe them was soulful. They were deeper than any he had ever seen. He could lose himself in the endless, wistful eyes and never surface again. Her beautiful voice floated through the cafe, stirring the occupants who sat spellbound. He didn't recognize the song. He didn't have to. When she sang it, he would remember it forever.

_"But there was always something different_

_ in the way she held a stare _

_And the pictures that she painted _

_Were of glamour and of flair _

_And her boyfriend though he loved her _

_Knew he couldn't quite fulfill _

_He could never meet her there..."_

Erik closed his eyes, losing himself for a moment in the melody. He opened them again when he heard an approaching waitress.

"What would you like to drink, sir?"

"Coffee. Black." He replied, only half-listening to what she was asking. His eyes were on the girl, radiant in song. The waitress nodded and wove her way back through the crowd again.

_"She's never gonna be like the one before _

_She read it in her stars that there's something more _

_No matter what it takes no _

_matter how she breaks_

_ She'll be the Queen of Hollywood"_

He was startled by the potential in that voice. It was already breathtaking, but what if it were further trained? All of the raw emotion channeled?

_She could be... just what I've been looking for._

_"Now her mother collects cut-outs _

_And the pictures make her smile_

_ But if she saw behind the curtains _

_It could only make her cry _

_She's got hand prints on he body _

_Sad moonbeams in her eyes - _

_Not so innocent a child..."_

When she was putting away her guitar and the customers were shuffling out of the door, he made his way over to her. "You sing beautifully, Miss-?"

"Daae." She supplied. She stood and tilted her head back to look at him. He was fully a head taller than her.

"Miss Daae, I'd like to offer you a job. My name is Erik Destler; I work at the Opera Populaire. With some training, you could-"

"No."

"What?" He was startled. Her dark eyes were serious, face set. _Why is she..._

"May I ask why you don't want to? Or do you plan on doing this forever?" He gestured around the cafe. "I'll be frank. You'll start at the bottom rung and have to work your way up, but the pay is good and we cover all insurance."

She gave him a measuring look. "Please." He said. _Why am I begging her? _

_Because her voice could bring the whole of Britain to its knees. You can't let her go, Erik. _

She studied him again, looking directly into his eyes. He wondered what she saw there. She crossed her arms, bit her lip. "All right. When do I start?"

He was elated, not that he'd let her see it. He wrote down the address and phone number and gave it to her, heart racing with eagerness to get back to his flat and compose. He had a number of ideas for songs that he could tailor to her voice...

**Christine**

She worried the paper with her fingers, watching the man leave the cafe, moving with an elegance she envied. She had wanted to refuse his offer, somehow she didn't think that Joseph would like her working in an Opera House. Than the man had mentioned the words 'pay' and 'insurance' and she thought that he would have little objection to either of those things.

It had been the "Please" that decided her though. She got the impression that the man- Erik Destler- didn't say it often. His voice had lowered, softened, his eyes, a startling shade of sky blue, had been intense and focused entirely on her. And somehow she couldn't refuse. And felt justified in her decision when she saw the azure eyes light up briefly, and the briefest hint of a smile touch his face.

She had wondered about the mask though. And, on reflection, decided not to ask. She had the idea that the strange white mask that covered the right side of his face was not something he talked about. Somehow it was even more imposing than his height or the deep, perfectly controlled angelic voice. He wore it almost like a crown. She wondered if that was all an act, an eccentricy or if it covered...

_Don't be ridiculous, Christine. He wouldn't wear a half-mask if he were a criminal. He would have gotten plastic surgery or something._

The man was an enigma.

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**Love it? Hate it? Review and tell me what you think! Hugs and cookies to you all. **

**Lee **


	2. But It's No Good For Me

**Disclaimer- I do not own POTO or any of the associated music or characters. I merely play with them. The song "No Good For Me" belongs to The Corrs, which is rather obvious as I have no musical talent whatsoever. :P **

**Note by the author- Thanks for the reviews, keep them coming!**

**Lee **

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**But It's No Good For Me**

**Christine**

She slid into the taxi with a quiet "Hey, Andy."

The man was getting on in his years, but had not yet lost the wistful, keen look of a young dreamer. "Evenin' Chris. How'd your day go?"

She smiled. "I got a job offer." She wanted to see how he'd take the news before she figured out how to tell Joseph.

He threw back his head and laughed. "Is that so? Well, done, Miss! Where at?"

"The Opera Populaire, if you'll believe it." She looked out the window shyly. "I'm not sure I believe it myself."

"Big, fancy Opera House on the other side of town? How did this happen, may I ask?" He looked about as pleased as if he had got the job himself.

"A man came into the cafe and heard me playing. He said he worked there and offered me a job. I was going to turn it down at first, but..."

"But, what"

"He made an offer I couldn't refuse."

Andy grinned. "And here was me thinking you were a sweet young gal. Glad to know you can be as materialistic as the rest of us. It'll make me feel a bit less guilty the next time I overcharge a suit."

She shared a laugh with him. "I'm only human, Andy." Let him think that she had done it for the money. _She_ wasn't going to enlighten him.

He braked. "Your stop, Chris."

Christine paid the taxi driver with a smile "Thanks, Andy. Keep the change, share the luck."

He nodded, "Sure thing, hon," and was off to find the next customer that would pay his rent.

Christine squared her shoulders as he drove off and steeled herself for the inevitable.

**Erik**

He sat at his piano, trying to recall the voice that had held him enraptured. His hands brushed over the keys absently. The faint strains of music drifted around him, unheeded, as he stared into space.

_ My God, she was brilliant._ There had been something missing from her voice though. He couldn't put his finger on it. She lacked some training, that he had noticed.

Passion.

It was true, her voice had carried the sorrow and regret of the song. But it had lacked the hope of it. Her eyes, her voice had had nothing of hope, no aspiration in them. _What could have happened to make someone so young, so lost? _Then again, grief wasn't particular about the age of the person it hit. _Age is no indication of joy or pain, Erik. You should know that. _

He fingered the white mask, unable to get the wistful voice out of his head. He tapped his pen against the paper titled 'Angel of Music' and sighed.

Hours later, he still couldn't get her voice out of his head. Her strange reluctance to take a job at the Opera House featured prominently in his thoughts.

_It wasn't the money, though no doubt she needs it. I know it wasn't the money. Did she want to make me beg?_

No. That didn't ring true either. Carlotta might attempt to make him beg once in a while, but not this girl.

_ She only took it once I asked her to. Personally. And I doubt it was my overwhelming warmth and charm that made her accept._

_Did she not care if she got the job or not?_

No. Someone who loved music as clearly as she did would have cared.

_ Family disapproval?_ That could be it. Erik was well acquainted with the snobbery of certain types of people for those of artistic callings. _Fawning on them to their faces, mocking them behind their backs. Hailing them as geniuses in the public eye, branding them as tramps and charlatans with their associates. Smiling at them one moment and sneering down their noses at them the next... _

If that was the case, Erik wasn't going to let the girl's family discourage her. She'd made it this far, damn if he was going to let her give up.

Of course, the aura of naive innocence around her had nothing to do with it. The startling lack of independence in her eyes. _Those pleading eyes..._

"Erik?" Nadir called. Erik heard him enter the apartment. "Are you here? We have an slight emergency"

Erik materialized in the main room. "Nadir, I must be behind the times. Has knocking gone out of fashion?" Then the last words of Nadir's sentence registered. "What kind of _slight _emergency is it that the people at the theatre can't handle? I should think that they'd be perfectly capable of handling a _slight_ emergency." he said scathingly

Nadir looked remarkably unruffled after that sally. "Alice has come down with strep throat. I had heard it was going around, but..."

Erik's voice was ominously calm. "I see. And the fact that she is the supporting actress classifies this as a_ minor_ setback?"

"She does have an understudy, Erik."

"Who still has fits of stage fright." Erik said witheringly. "No, Janet won't be ready in time."

_ Janet won't, _whispered a little voice inside his head. _But what about Christine Daae? _

_A long shot. _He thought.

_And, it seems, the only available option._

Nadir had his hands clasped behind him in an air of relaxed professionalism. "I take it then, since you are not in the midst of breaking something, that you have someone in mind?"

_If she'll do it. _

Erik told that particular voice to take a long walk.

"Yes." he said tightly. "Now, I have to make a phone call."

"Who do you have in mind?"

"An undiscovered talent. And, the only girl I know with the proper range."

"Where did you find this 'undiscovered'?" Nadir asked curiously. Erik resisted the urge to throw something at him for taking this so calmly.

"Nadir, you are prying."

"I believe that's why you employ me." the man pointed out.

Erik lifted his eyes to the ceiling and counted slowly to ten. "At a cafe downtown. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a phone call to make.

" Erik could have sworn he saw the man grin as he turned. "A cafe, Erik?"

That paperweight had never looked so suited to aerodynamics.

**Christine**

She fiddled with her key as the elevator doors slid open. Joseph had lost his a week ago and had yet to get a copy made. The only reason she had the only key was that he didn't like to come home to an empty table.

She still had an hour or two before he came back from working or bar-hopping. She set the water on to boil and strummed her guitar absently. How should she tell him...?

It would have been easy to tell Raoul. Raoul had always supported her music.

_So much that he died for it. _She felt a hot, sick wave of guilt swamp her again. She would have thought she'd be used to the feeling by now, the poisonous emotions eating away at her insides. The memories that made her burn with shame, memories that could still bow her head, memories that could still make her cry.

Christine sang softly,

_"But it's a fantasy, not a reality _

_And it's good for me you have no idea _

_That I'm walking through the clouds _

_When you're looking at me"_

She felt ready to retch. Raoul and she had had so much opportunity, so many years ahead of them. She still remembered the way his eyes would light up when he saw her, kindling something warm in her. They way his gaze always coaxed a smile from her.

_"I'm feeling like a child _

_Vulnerability_

_ I am shaking like a leaf_

_ if you move beside me"_

They had shared the same classes in high school, college. She remembered her first date with him, junior year. How awkward and teenage she had felt, frizzy hair, shortest girl in the school, deathly pale.

How he had taken all that awkwardness away the moment he appeared on her doorstep with a bouquet of daffodils. She couldn't see a daffodil anymore without thinking of that night. They had gone to see a cheesy romance flick, had walked out halfway through to sit in the parking lot sharing ice cream and talking about music.

That magical first night in college. The night of their engagement. Christine closed her eyes. That was too painful to think about right now.

_"And you're all that I see _

_but it's no good for me"_

He always was too good for her, she had known it as well as every other girl had. But he didn't seem to care. He didn't care that she couldn't handle do the laundry without utterly ruining the fabric, or that she could change a tire faster than most guys her age could.

He didn't care that she wasn't perfect. That she wasn't a homemaker or a sports jock or one of those delicate girls destined to become a model or a movie star.

He hadn't cared. He'd told her so many times that she was perfect. So many times that he wouldn't have her any other way, bleached clothes and all.

_He really was too perfect to be mine._

Her thoughts were interrupted as there was a loud knock on the door. "Christine? Open up."

She sighed, setting down the guitar with a sinking feeling. Here it comes. She opened the door. Joseph strode through, all swagger and testosterone. He smelled faintly of pub beer and cigarettes. "Dinner's on the table. Pasta."

"Again?"

"You like pasta, Joseph"

"That doesn't mean I live off of it."

"It was what we had"  
"Than why didn't you go pick something up at the grocery store? Or bring something home. You do work at a cafe." He sounded annoyed with her, as though he was trying to tell a four year old that one plus one did indeed equal two.

"I had to swing by the laundromat. And about the cafe..." She paused, unsure how to go on.

He looked up sharply. "Don't tell me you got yourself fired, Christine. You're not _that _useless. Although you have your moments." He muttered.

She ignored the barb, having gotten used to such comments a long time ago. "No. I got another job. At the Opera House across town. Someone who works there was in the cafe, he offered me a job."

"He?"

"Some quavery composer." Inside she felt a ripple of anger and disgust at herself for saying the words. Bright eyes, fiercely intelligent, burned in her mind. _He wasn't weak, Christine._

"So that tra-la-laaing of yours finally got you somewhere." His lip curled in cynical contempt. "Or was he looking for a-"

"Not unless he thought I was a boy."

Joseph snorted. "Can't say I'd blame him. Why don't you wear anything nice?"

Christine quickly changed the subject. "The pay is good, Joseph, and they cover all of the insurance costs."

"I'll bet they do." Joseph said sarcastically. "How much are they paying you, anyway?"

She named the sum. His eyebrows raised. "Didn't think you were worth that much, Christine. Or are you sure he knew-"

The phone rang at that moment. It sounded like a godsend to Christine. She leapt to get it, nearly knocking over her chair to do so and earning a derisive look from Joseph.

"Hello?"

"Is this Christine Daae?" Christine shivered as she heard that voice. The man from the cafe. _Erik Destler._ His deep voice sent chills down her spine. "Yes, this is she. Is something wrong, Mr. Destler?"

"Miss Daae, our supporting actress has contracted strep throat. You are the only singer I know that has the range for the part. I know this is sudden. Don't worry. We still have a good three weeks to get you up to scratch if you'll take the part. Will you take the part?"

Christine glanced over at Joseph, watching her with unconcealed scorn. "I'll take it. What time is the rehearsal"

"Tomorrow, 7 o'clock in the morning. Can you make it?"

"Yes. Yes. Thank you."

His voice warmed marginally. "Thank _you,_ Miss Daae. Until tomorrow then."

"See you then. Goodbye." She set the phone back in its cradle and leaned against the wall.

"Good news, I hope, Christine?" He looked as though such news would be a great surprise.

"I got a part in the opera they're producing. The supporting actress came down with something."

"Well, I suppose they'll have to settle for second best." Joseph said dismissively. He pushed back his chair and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"  
"Out. Not that it's any of your concern." He paused by her.

"Oh, and Christine?" His arm pressed her uncomfortably close to him, his hand tight on her hair, causing her eyes to blur. "Dinner was a bit below par. Don't worry, you can make it up to me later."

Christine stood there a long time after he left, eyes glistening.

_Don't cry, Christine. You deserve this. _

_Don't cry._

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**Joseph, everyone. **_  
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	3. With A Circus Mind

**Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or any of the associated music or characters. Nor do I own the song "Little Wing", which belongs to Jimi Hendrix. On a brighter note, free cookies. :) Lee**

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**With A Circus Mind**

**Christine**

She woke up feeling groggy, which was nothing unusual, and glared at the incessantly beeping alarm. Her memory came back fuzzily. _Mr. Destler, the play, 7 o'clock._

She looked at the clock again, slamming it off. _6:30 _

_Damn._

Christine lunged out of bed, a feat that made her head spin. She tied up her hair- there was no way it would dry in an hour- and took the fastest shower since her high school gym classes. She grabbed a water bottle and rushed out the door, hailing a taxi.

_6:50_

She straightened up, getting out of the cab and stared as she got her first glimpse of the Opera Populaire.

"Imposing, isn't it?" A dark-skinned, friendly-looking man was lounging by the doors. "A bit too Baroque for my taste, but the managers like it well enough." He smiled and held out a hand. "You must be Christine Daae."

"Have I kept everyone long?" She asked worriedly. _That's the LAST thing I need, to have a whole cast and crew annoyed at me for holding them up._

He shook his head, white teeth flashing. "Not at all. My name is Nadir Khan. I work for Mr. Destler, who you've met." He made his way up the steps. "Come on up. I'll show you around."

Christine couldn't help contrasting the man with his employer. Nadir- he insisted that she call him by his given name- was an incredibly approachable man with a great deal of personal warmth and charm.

Not that Erik Destler didn't have charisma or magnetism. But whereas Nadir was sunny and comfortable and drew people like children to a picnic, Erik Destler was aloof, polished. He drew people like fire did, for the beauty of it. But fire was meant to be kept at a safe distance. Nadir was easygoing and personable. Erik Destler exuded a more subtle, less vibrant pull on the people around him.

And then she spotted him up ahead, dressed impeccably in a black turtleneck and slacks. His back was rigid, arms crossed as a strong-browed woman berated him at the top of her yowling voice.

"Erik!" Nadir called. "She's here."

"Thank God." Erik strode over to them "That _woman_ is whinging about her costume _again, _and I can't deal with it at the moment...spoiled diva."

Christine's lips quirked as he raked a hand distractedly through his hair. "Tough day?"

His eyes, blue sheened with green from the lights, flicked toward her. "And it hasn't even started yet. Come, I have a copy of the script. This is Meg," he continued as a willowy blonde made her way toward them. "Head of the ballet corps. She's agreed to be your guide. "

The girl had the air of irrepressable cheerfulness. "Hi, Christine. I'm Meg Giry. My mother tutors the chorus girls here. Come, I'll show you where to put your things and you can look over the script. We're not doing the scenes you'll be in today, give you a chance to look at the script and Mr. Destler to discuss it with you"

The girl rushed off. Christine followed. _Does she do _anything _at a normal pace? _The girl was a mad whirlwind. By the time the reached the antechambers behind the stage, Meg had managed to thaw the ice around Christine.

"So, where do you live?"

Christine shrugged and set down her water and her bag. "On the other side of town. My boyfriend and I share the flat." She didn't elaborate. Meg's brows raised, but apparently she took her abbreviated answer to be either nerves or jealousy. Christine had known a few women who didn't advertise their boyfriends simply because they didn't want to share them with their friends.

_How far is that from the truth? If Joseph wanted another girl, he wouldn't care if I tried to stop it._

No. Joseph had been with plenty of other women. The occasional Thursday nights, when he came home smelling of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke. She knew. She had tried to ask him about it. Once. She flinched in memeory. Only once.

"...ever worked with Erik before?"

Christine started. Meg cocked her head, blonde ponytail swinging. "Christine?"

Christine smiled reassuringly. "No, I've never worked with him before." She laughed and hoped it didn't sound too forced. "In fact, before yesterday, I'd never met him."

"Really?" Meg's face was openly curious. "How did that happen?"

Relieved at the change in subject, Christine gave her an overview. "He heard me singing, in a cafe if you'll believe it! There I am, packing up and ready to leave and up comes this tall, dark and lyrical stranger and he asks me if I wane a job at the Opera Populaire, if you please"

"You forgot handsome."

She blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Meg grinned. "Tall, dark and lyrical? It just doesn't have the same ring, Christine."

Christine felt the same expression spreading across her face. Small, but there. Unfamiliar, but it felt so good. "Is he really?" She asked teasingly. "I hadn't noticed."

Meg snorted disbelievingly. "Come on, then, Ice-woman."

"Ouch. That was uncalled for." Meg's eyes crinkled, the light eyes sparkling with good humor. "You said it, not me."

"I did no such thing."

"Keep telling yourself that, Christine." the blonde dancer said. She smiled wickedly over her shoulder at Christine.

Erik Destler appeared around the corner. "Meg, Ms. Daae, as delighted as I am to see you two getting along, we have work to do."

Christine could have sworn she saw the shadow of a smile on his face.

_How much did he hear?_ She stared off into space for a moment. _Do I even want to know?_

"Ms. Daae?"

Her head whipped around. "Yes?"

"We're using one of the tutoring rooms. I'll be coaching you myself. Follow me." He nodded to Meg, who set off determindly back toward the stage.

He opened a door left slightly ajar and waved her in.

The room was barren save for a piano. The walls were sound-proofed, the lights bright and steady.

Her tutor seated himself at the piano. "Scales." She opened her mouth, he tilted his head as he played, listening intently. "Stop." She fell silent, half-curious, half-wary as he stood. She could hear her breath catch as he stood behind her. "Relax." he told her calmly. He placed a hand on her abdomen. "Breathe from here. Now, stand straight and let's hear it again."

She wasn't sure if she liked the presence at her back. Strange tremors went up her spine, her body went hot, than cold. He was warm against her back, voice soft in her ear. The faint scent of cinnamon and wood smoke lingered around him. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Did he feel her heart beating so wildly?

"Relax." He murmurred. She felt the tension leave her as the rich, sensuous voice brushed her ear. She repeated the scales until he was satisfied, amazed at what the man behind her had done to her voice.

_Erik._

**Erik**

"Relax." He told her softly. She was incredibly light against him, a whisper of song in his arms. He could have sworn he felt her heartbeat, racing.

_ Of course she's nervous, Erik. Don't be an idiot._

Still, there was something in the way she fit so surely against him, the way her voice floated around them in the stillness. Her hair, soft as a breath of wind, brushed his bare skin as he spoke into her ear.

He released her slowly. Reluctant to loose the music he had held in his arms, however briefly.

There was an odd stillness about her after he loosed her. The hair on the back of his neck prickled.

"Christine, are you all right?" She looked over her shoulder, smiled. The gesture unsettled him. It had been lovely, but something hid beneath it, something that she covered quickly as she turned to face him.

"How did you do that?"

He looked at her inquisitively. "Do what?"

Her expression was odd. Half joy, half terrible sorrow. "I haven't been able to sing like that since...for years." She corrected.

He had not missed the flash of pain in her eyes. _Since what, Christine? What are you hiding?_

Then he reprimended himself. _It isn't your business, Erik. She has a perfect right to have a few secrets. Stay out of it. _He handed her the sheet of music for one of her scenes. "It's my job. I should be good at it. Do you think you've warmed up sufficiently?"

**Christine**

It was much later when the day was brought to a halt. She was slinging her bag over her shoulder when she heard a voice.

"Care to join me for a coffee?"

She turned. Erik Destler stood casually in the doorway. He raised an eyebrow in polite inquiry.

She looked at her watch. She had time. "Sure."

The sun set around five in December. Christine looked up and savored the pinpricks of brilliance in the sky. It was snowing lightly, a peaceful night. There was no conversation between them, but the silence was companionable. The cold almost put her to sleep, as it always did.

She revived a bit over coffee. Enough to ask the man across from her a question that had been teasing at her mind all day.

"Who is Carlotta?"

He grimaced. "The spawn of-"

She fixed him with a look that was both laughing and not laughing. "Be serious."

His lips curved. "I assure you, I have never been more serious in my life." He apparently realized that she found this statement lacking, for he elaborated. "A Prima Donna, once the toast of the Opera world, now losing her touch, though she hadn't had much in the first place. Although you would be hard pressed to get her to admit it. She loves opera less for the art of it than she does for the limelight."

Christine raised her brows. "That's a pretty hefty judgement."

He rolled his eyes expressively and set his coffee down. "_You_ try putting up with her someday."

She gave him a sweet smile. "Thank you, but no thank you." Than her eyebrows drew together. "She's not that bad, surely?"

"Have you ever heard a cat in a blender?" He asked dryly.

"No, I can't say that I have." She replied mock-seriously. She looked at the cafe clock. "Is that the time?"

He glanced down at her wrist. "Has your watch stopped working?"

She groaned and rubbed her eyes. "Naturally."

He stood. "I'll take you home"

"No-really- it's all right"

"Why should you pay for a taxi when I can drop you off for free?"

She couldn't answer that question without sounding paranoid or rude. _Or both. _"Thank you, then."

"Not a problem, Miss Daae." He unlocked the door for her.

"Can you give me directions?"

She nodded. His headlights flicked on.

**Erik**

The car glided smoothly to a stop in front of a building that had seen better days. "Is this it?"

She nodded, seemingly eager to be off. "Yes. Thank you."

"You're welcome. See you tomorrow."

She nodded distractedly. "Thank you again. Goodbye."

He waited for her to get inside the building, than headed for his flat. He had heard fear in Christine Daae's voice.

_What is she afraid of?_

**Christine**

"You're late."

She winced. She'd hoped that he would be later than usual this time.

No such luck. Joseph sat, arms crossed, brows raised sardonically. "Who was that man you were riding with?"

"He works at the Opera House. He offered to give me a lift." She decided not to tell him about the coffee.

"I don't want you seeing him again." Joseph said flatly.

Christine sighed patiently. "That will be rather hard, considering that I work with him."

In a moment he was behind her, arm like a vice against her ribs, one hand forcing her head to turn sharply toward his. His eyes were black and entirely unamused. "Don't play games with me, Christine."

"Calm down, Joseph," Christine said pacifingly. "I think you've had too much to drink tonight."

She tried to squirm away. His hold tightened. She felt her ribs protest. His hand pressed on her throat, painfully. She'd have bruises there tomorrow.

"Joseph, why don't you go lay down and I'll-"

He picked her up, crushing her frail body to his. "Why don't you come with me?"

"Joseph, calm down"

"_Are_ you two-timing me, Christine? I wonder."

"Joseph, please-"

"No need to beg, Christine."

_"Let me go!" _She struggled, her hand glanced off of his jaw. Somehow she was standing again.

He forced her head back. "Enough, Christine. I'm just giving you what you deserve. Remember that."

He twisted her arm savagely. "Always remember that."

The night was no longer peaceful.

* * *

**Well, what do you think about that? Reviews are appreciated.**

** Lee **


	4. So Young

**Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or any associated music/characters. I do not own the song "So Young," which belongs to The Corr. I own only the lovely cookies my reviewers so enjoy. :)**

**Two chapters in one day, don't you feel loved?**

**Lee **

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**So Young **

**Christine**

She woke suddenly, one long ache from crown to sole. Joseph was, thank Heaven, gone. _God. Even my hair hurts. _

_You had this coming._

_ I know._ But she had never longed more for the boy she had destroyed. _Oh, Raoul. What did I do?_

The memories of a funeral seemed to hover in the darkness. A wake at which she had sat silent and pale next to open caskets. Her fiancé's white face rose before her, marked and marred by the accident that had killed him.

The last moments came rushing back as she watched the car lights slide across her curtains. His last moments.

_"Christine."  
_

_His eyes were glazed. It was so strange, so frightening to see Raoul, her Raoul, so still on the hospital bed. The heart monitor was a slow beep, too slow. The red of his ravaged face was stark against the white face, a shout in the solemn quiet of the hospital room. _

_Her tendons stood out starkly as she gripped his hand. His own grip was limp, he was already slipping. The firm touch, so reassuring, was no longer there._

_ "Christine, promise me-"  
_

_"Don't talk like that, Raoul. You'll be fine. You'll be-" _

_His quiet whisper cut her off like a scream. "Promise me you won't give up your music." _

_"You'll be fine, Raoul."  
_

_"Swear you'll find another love."  
_

_"Raoul!"_

_ "Promise me!" He said hoarsely. He began to cough. She saw a trickle of red on his lips before a nurse came running in. Her heart constricted painfully. _

_"I promise." _

_His hand slipped from hers as the nurse brushed her back. _

_The monitor was silent._

She reached for her guitar, the only anesthetic for a lone girl at 3 o'clock in the morning.

_"We were taking it easy_

_ Bright and breezy _

_We are living it up _

_Just fine and dandy _

_We are chasing the moon _

_Just running wild and free_

_ We are following through _

_Every dream, and every need..."_

She and Raoul had been planning the wedding only days before the accident. Her lips stretched in the parody of a smile.

_"What color do you think the decorations should be?"  
_

_He looked at her teasingly. "I think there's something to be said for white, myself."  
_

_She smacked his arm. "Raoul!" _

_He caught her hand and kissed it. His hazel eyes were warm on hers, deep pools of spring leaves. "Ecru." _

_She smiled back. "And the flowers?"  
_

_He reached across the table and took her hands in his, caressing the fingers. "Daffodils."_

A tear slid, shining, down the burnished wood of the guitar.

_"And it really doesn't matter _

_that we don't eat _

_And it really doesn't matter_

_ that we don't sleep It really doesn't matter, it really _

_doesn't matter at all..."_

Little memories, it was the little things she missed

_"Christine, Taylor mentioned this Italian place downtown. Want to go?" _

_She pulled him down on the couch beside her. "Why don't we eat in?" _

_He grinned as she lay in his arms, sharing popcorn and the Wizard of Oz. She felt him kiss her hair gently as Dorothy met the scarecrow. Christine smiled contentedly and settled back against him._

She wondered what he would think of her now. She owed him so much for what she'd done to him.

_"'Cos we were so young then,  
_

_we are so young, so young now _

_And when tomorrow comes,  
_

_we'll just do it all again."_

There would be no tomorrow for them. Christine set down her guitar and let the tears come.

** Meg**

She knew something was wrong the moment Christine walked through the door. Her face was drawn, expressionless. Her eyes were clouded, shadows lurking beneath them. She moved stiffly, did not hear what was said to her at first.

"Christine?" She laid a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder. For all her apparent buoyancy, Meg had good people instincts.

Those instincts were clanging like alarm bells now.

Christine flinched. "Yes?"

Meg looked at her levelly, worried with the absent look in Christine's eyes. "What's the matter, Christine?"

She blinked, tried a smile. Meg knew a forced smile when she saw it. Christine tried to reassure her. "Really, I just didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

She bent down to retrieve her water bottle. As she did, her long-sleeved, heavy turtleneck rose.

Meg's breath hissed between her teeth. The girl's ivory back was riddled with dark stripes and bruises. "Christine, who- who did that to you?"

Christine straightened, whipping her head around like she'd been shouted for. Her face was drained, completely devoid of color. "Oh, no." She rushed forward. "It was my fault, promise me you won't tell anyone!"

Meg stared in horror at the fragile girl clinging to her. "Christine,"

"Promise me!" Hot tears scalded the dancer's skin. She held the girl close. "Christine, you've got to tell someone."

"No!" Her lips were trembling, whites showing all around her reddening eyes. There was shame in the brown depths. "Please, don't tell. Please..." The pain in her eyes sent a jolt through Meg's stomach. "You can't tell anyone, Meg." Her voice steadied, the tears were slowing. She was locking everything back in. "This is my choice, Meg. You can't tell anyone."

'It's the wrong choice, Christine. You don't deserve to be treated like this"

Christine's arms tightened on her shoulders, she laughed bitterly. "Don't I? Oh, Meg, if you only knew how much I really deserve."

"You deserve someone who loves you." Meg rubbed her back, trying to bring her back to the tears, anything but this cynical, twisted conviction.

Christine's lips twitched into something that did not resemble a smile. "I had someone. And it's my fault I don't have him anymore."

"That doesn't give your boyfriend the right to hit you!"

Christine pulled away. She was disturbingly calm, Meg felt goosebumps rise on her skin. "Are you so sure about that, Meg?" She left the room, pausing at the doorway. "Don't tell anyone about this." She looked over her shoulder. There was only the slight redness to her eyes to show that she'd lost her composure at all. "Please, Meg." Then she was gone.

**Erik**

Christine seemed lost today. Her voice had lost the passion of yesterday; mechanically, she reached all of the notes, sang automatically the music he gave her. She was looking into some far distance, distracted and wayward.

_What's the matter with her?_

Finally, he turned to face her. "Christine, what is it that's bothering you?"

She blinked at him in apparent confusion. "I'm fine, Mr. Destler, why do you ask?" Her eyes were innocently inquiring.

He sighed. "Perhaps because you have not sung to the potential I know you can. You are distracted, unfocused. Your voice has no emotion. So I will ask you again, Christine, what is the matter?"

Her smile did not quite reach her eyes. "I'm fine, Mr. Destler, honestly. Don't worry about me."

_ Like hell you are. _he thought, trying to pierce the thing veil that clouded her eyes. _What aren't you telling me, Christine? _

Still, it was useless to pressure her for answers, he would get nothing but artless denial from her. She was skilled at controlling her body language, but he had long ago mastered the art of reading such signs, and her control was not as good as it might be. She had her hands in her pockets, a slight shifting of the weight that betrayed her.

He sighed and turned back to the piano. Perhaps Meg knew what was wrong with Christine. He would find out after rehearsal ended.

In the meantime, he aided in the only way he could.

He played for her.


	5. Runaway

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/music associated with POTO. Nor do I own the song "Ruanaway" by The Corrs. But you love me anyway, right? Right?  
Thanks for all the reviews, they are the stuff my story is made of.**

**Lee**

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**Runaway**

**Christine**

Her legs trembled as she walked through the door to her apartment. She had been physically sick in the bathroom of the Opera House. The door had opened and she had turned in horror.

Strangely enough, it had been Carlotta who had waltzed through the door, with the conspicuous lack of an entourage. She had taken one look at Christine, who was painfully aware of her less than presentable state, and the woman's brows had drawn together with an almost audible click.

Christine was shocked at what happened next. The fussy diva swept toward her, taking calm command. "Come, ma cherie, what is it?" The haughty face was softened in pity, the black eyes and arms around her shoulders were firm and warm.

She was not laughing, nor sneering. Her eyes were assessing, sisterly. Christine had not expected another facet to the glittering prima donna.

Yet there it was. Christine forgot composure, forgot decency, and broke down on the woman's shoulder. Carlotta patted her back, rocking her silently. For the second time that day, Christine allowed herself to cry. Her mind was blank. Why she was allowing this to happen, after so many years of fighting back tears? Why was she letting them come now? She sobbed. Could it be that she had finally succumbed, admitted, to her terrible weakness? Had she, after holding back for so long, become this creature?

_No. I have always been this creature. All my life. I've cost everyone I loved. I've been so weak. Joseph is right._

_Oh, Raoul. _Dimly, she could hear the recording they'd made of themselves, singing together.

_"Say it's true there's _

_nothing like me and you _

_I'm not alone, tell me_

_ you feel it too..." _

_The sound of laughter as he swept her up in his arms._

_"And I would run away _

_I would run away with yeah_

_ I would run away I would run away _

_with you_

_Coz I am falling in _

_love with you _

_No never I'm never gonna stop _

_ Falling in love with you..."_

_"Christine"  
_

_"Yes"  
_

_"Will you marry me?"_

The guilt increased tenfold. Sobs wracked her small body like a birch tree in a hurricane. She hung on for dear life to the imperial prima donna.

"Now, ma cherie, what is the matter?" This fastidious, intimidating woman did not seem to care that Christine had soaked her shoulder and her costume. Her thin, beringed fingers, rubbed her back as though she were a child. Christine winced as she encountered a bruise, she could not altogether stifle a gasp. The diva saw and whispered in her ear.

"I know what it is you are hiding, child." Christine looked up at her through brimming eyes. "Wha-"

"Do not deny it." Carlotta said, voice crisp and firm. "I have many nieces. Do not think to hide such a thing from me."

"What are you going to do?" She asked the woman tremulously. The diva snorted. "The question is, what are you going to do, ma cherie. You are the one who got yourself into this, not me. I will give you only one piece of advice- leave him soon. The longer you stay with such a man, the more dangerous it becomes." The reddened mouth pursed. "Now, dry your tears. We have an Opera to perform. Come with me, Miss Daae. We'll make you look presentable again."

Christine stared at the woman, speechless. _I can't believe how I misjudged her. _Carlotta was fussing with her face, covering the redness of her cheeks, the puffy eyes. The woman was brisk and firm, a mind-boggling change from her usual coquette flutters. She was amazed at the competent woman that lurked within the prima donna.

She wished she had Carlotta with her now. The diva's presence would have done much for her nerves, raw as she waited for Joseph to come home. Even now, she did not yet know what she would do. Where she would go.

If she would go. Joseph represented protection to her, his abuse a twisted kind of love, as though his fierce overprotectiveness and violence toward her were some odd form of affection. As though she was valuable to him. He had taken charge of her life after Raoul, when she was adrift and lost without Raoul or her parents. She had taken his insults, his blows, because she needed someone. Someone to watch her, protect her. She had taken all of his abuse because there was nowhere else to go.

And... she deserved it. His blows were justified, anyone's blows toward her were justified for what she did to Raoul and her parents. Shouldn't she pay the price for what she had cost them? Wasn't it only fair that she suffered as she had made them suffer? Was she not everything Joseph told her, for all that she had brought upon them?

Did she not deserve to be punished?

**Meg**

She knew she shouldn't. It was none of her business.

She didn't care. If that shy, fragile girl was hurt another time, every blow would be her fault, every bruise and every tear a mark of her shameful silence. Meg jammed the keys into the ignition and sped out into the night. She pulled her phone out of her purse. She had a call to make.

**Christine**

A familiar heavy knock echoed through the room. "Christine, open the door." The voice was slurred. She approached the door, hesitated. What if she refused to open it? What then?

"Christine!" A heavy blow to the door made her jump. "I know you're there, so open the damn door!"

From the sound of him, he was heavily drunk. Or stoned. She had no idea which of the two he had indulged in tonight. Perhaps even both.

She heard the door splinter on the other side. "All right." Her voice was shaky. "I'm coming."

As she pulled it to, the door flew open. Joseph looked livid. His pupils were fully dilated, she nearly gagged in the reek of alcohol. His eyes were bloodshot, his movements lurching. "What took you so long, Christine?" The words were heavy with menace. "Not hiding anything, are you?" His hand snatched her hair, pulled her head back. "Are you?"

She was overwhelmed by the fear his unsteady state induced, feeling like prey beneath a hunter's gun. "No- Joseph, you're hurting me!" She cried as he grabbed her just under the shoulder. She felt the arm begin to go numb.

"Where are you hiding him, Christine?"

"What are you talking about?" She tried to back away, felt the wall hit her shoulderblades. Her breathing was fast and irregular, her heart felt as though it would burst. He pinned her against the wall and she felt a physical horror enter her body, paralyzing her with fear.

"Tell me where you're hiding him, Christine! Did you think you could keep it a secret forever?"

She whimpered as he pinned her arms to her sides. "Joseph, stop it!"

"Begging won't save you, Christine." Colors burst against her closed eyelids as his fist collided with her head. She screamed as they exploded again.

And again.

_ "Joseph!"_

"You'll scream louder than that, Christine, I promise." One hand found its way to her neck, curled and tightened.

Stars burst before her eyes, she felt her limbs go slack. The world spun like a kaleidoscope.

_"Let her go!"_

An angry female voice, Christine could hear it only distantly. Joseph's mad eyes stared into hers, completely unaware of anything but his victim.

Christine heard a crash. Joseph flinched, turned. Dimly, she saw something red and shining on his back, he turned and backhanded the blonde girl. She yelped and was driven backward. Joseph kicked the girl in the stomach, bringing her to her knees, than turned back to Christine.

She cowered on the floor, only half-aware of what was going on around her, but fast regaining consciousness- reentering the nightmare. His hand slid under her chin, brought her to stand against the wall, pinned by her neck. Stripes of color and shadow crossed her vision. She felt, rather than saw, her vision beginning to darken.

The sound of breaking glass brought her back. Joseph stumbled back from her, whirled, snarling. Christine crumpled to the floor. Her vision returned, though she could not have moved to save her life.

A tall man dressed entirely in black placed himself between Christine and her attacker. Joseph, half out of his mind with the drugs and alcohol pumping through his veins, rushed the man with an animalistic roar.

The man caught his arm as he swung at him, used the other's momentum to throw him past. Joseph recovered himself and the faced each other once more, one with the stance of a prizefighter, broad, the other taller, leaner, moving with a fencer's grace. He stepped neatly to the side as Joseph charged him again, delivered a crushing blow to the back of the other man's neck.

The floor shook as Joseph fell heavily to the floor. Dimly, she heard a female voice. "Is she all right?"

The man knelt beside her. She felt herself scooped up, cradled. She stared up into the face of her rescuer. Blue eyes, hot and blazing, bored into her from a face half-covered by a familiar white mask. A warm, angelic voice washed over her. "We'll see. Bring the car around, would you?"

In the corner of her eyes, she caught a glimpse of a blonde head disappearing around the door. Then her eyes were recaptured by the intense orbs that looked into hers. She buried her head against his neck, escaping the clear-eyed gaze. His arms tightened around her.

Her name was a soft caress. "Christine."

She felt the tears begin to spill. He held her against him still more firmly as he walked toward the door. Carefully, ever so carefully, he went down the stairs to where a pool of light illuminated a dark car. A light-haired girl's frightened face looked at him from behind the steering wheel. Dimly, she felt him slide into the backseat, issuing directions to the girl. The car's engine purred and Christine felt the car pull away. One gentle hand held her head against him, a voice was speaking soothingly.

Christine was not sure when she passed from night into true darkness.

**Erik **

His heart was still pounding. He ran his fingers feverishly through the damp, tangled curls, slick with sweat and what felt like blood. Her face bore a scattering of small cuts, left by the shattered glass that had saved her life. Her face was pale, sheened with sweat. The long, dark lashes were beaded with tears, the soft lip split, ivory face turning dark in a long, purple-black bruise along her cheekbone. Her throat was red from the other man's ungentle hands.

He was shocked by the lightness of her, as though held a child in his arms. Her face was pressed against his neck, her hands clenched on his turtleneck, tendons showing white. Her face was pained in whatever dark dreams she was having. He stroked the russet curls. "It's all right, Christine." His voice was pitched for her ears alone. "You're safe now."

Some of the tautness left her, she curled up against him. He ran gentle fingers over her back. "You're safe."

She breathed a contented sigh onto his shoulder.

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**Enough Erik/Christine for you? (grin) Didn't think so. Review and tell me what you think!**

**Lee **


	6. Only When I Sleep

**Disclaimer: Hmm. I'm running out of funny things to put here. Obviously, I do not own POTO or any of the associated characters/music or the song "Only When I Sleep" by The Corrs. But I do have a lot of fun playing with them. Thank you for the lovely reviews. I believe the first one was written within moments of my putting it up. o.O I'm not sure whether flattered or stalked. (contemplates) Hmmm... feel flattered. Thanks! **

**Lee**

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**Only When I Sleep**

**Christine**

Christine was running. Behind her, she heard shouting, maniacal laughter that trailed at her heels. Shadows snatched at her heels, screaming photographs flapping around her feet. She felt a rough hand grab her shoulder.

_"Raoul!" _Her voice was thin, helpless in the darkness. She jerked free, feeling skin and cloth rip as she tore free from the claws embedded in her flesh._ "Raoul!" _The cement underneath her turned to quicksand, she felt talons dig into her, dragging her free. Christine stared into the black, beady eyes of the crow on her shoulder. The long, lethal beak dripped with some glutinous liquid. It opened the dark-smeared beak and croaked harshly. She sobbed, retched as the stench of blood swamped her, the coppery taste filling her mouth. Twisting away, she sprinted toward a lone streetlight.

Something caught her hand, bony, sharp and slick. Christine felt claws puncture the skin, ripping through muscle, scraping the bone.

She screamed, whirled.

And then a man stood between her and the monster that chased her. Whatever had been pursuing her dissolved as though it had never been. The air around him shimmered with a hazy luminescence.

She reached out a tentative hand to the figure. "Raoul?"

He glanced back at her, turned. Blue eyes blazed like sunlight, like starlight, in the darkness of the labyrinth around them. A labyrinth so dark that even night was blinded. The white mask contrasted sharply with the living flesh, the uncovered side of the face raw with longing. He reached toward her, she stepped forward-

"Christine..." The rich, deep, sensuous voice murmured in her ear. She looked into the eyes above her and froze. In those eyes, all the sadness of the world. Need, self-loathing, a desire that shivered her like a harpstring. They were like sunlight on water, brighter than the gates of Heaven, but so lonely...

"Christine..."

She opened her eyes slowly. Her body was pounding, every heartbeat hurt. Erik Destler was leaning over her, voice lowered, concerned. "Christine, can you hear me?" Dark hair slipped over his eyes, she tried to lift her hand to brush it back, found that she could not.

"Where am I?" Her voice was a cracked whisper. Dimly, she felt him take her hand. She felt as though she were living in a haze. The hand he held was the only thing that was not part of the numbness around her. It tingled with electricity, sending a shiver through her when he caressed the palm unthinkingly. The hot, fierce eyes were softened, the resonating, angelic voice warm.

"You were nearly beaten to death two days ago. Joseph Buquet is in custody, the paramedics thought that it would be better not to move you. You are in my home"

"Oh." She did not know what to think of that. It seemed enough that she was awake, any more than that, she could not manage. "What is the time"

"It is ten o'clock at night. December nineteenth if you're curious." He pierced her with that unwavering gaze. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been dragged through Hell." The corners of his mouth shadowed in a smile that was not at all amused. "That's not far off the mark. What happened?" The thing that had not been a smile was gone from his face, replaced by a carefully still expression. Eerily still. Christine's heart beat harder. The cool, collected facade was no more than that. Underneath the poise, she sensed a hot anger, like a brewing fire concealed by peaceful smoke, emanating from him.

"What needed to?" She asked tiredly. "He was drunk, stoned, I don't know. He's less than gentle when he's like that." If he only knew the truth of that statement!

The blue stare did not falter. "Not all of those bruises are recent, Christine." His eyes were uncomfortably direct. She looked away. He took her chin quickly, gently, turned it back toward him. She refused to meet his eyes, kept her gaze behind lowered lashes.

"Christine, look at me." He whispered fiercely. She stared blankly at the wall. "Christine..."

She turned pleading eyes upon him. "Just let me sleep." She felt tears beginning to brim. _I don't want to think about this- not now. Please, don't make me..._

He sighed. "You need to talk about this, Christine. Perhaps not with me, but with someone."

"Not now." She begged. "I can't- not now." _God, I can't do this._

The blue eyes were resigned. "If that's what you want, Christine." Christine caught a fleeting look as it flitted across his face, too brief to discern. He stood to leave.

She caught his sleeve. He turned, raised an eyebrow. The mask seemed to waver in the muted lights.

It took her two tries to speak. "Stay. Please?" She did not dare ask the second thing. She did not dare to ask this strange, beautiful man to hold her. However much she ached for the comfort of it, body and soul. _Oh, God, Erik, what is happening to me? Hold me, Erik. For the love of God, hold me close_. Her breath caught in her throat, she felt as though she would choke. There was a gaping emptiness inside her, and it was spreading. She felt it reach out, spreading veins of nothingness through her. _Erik... hold me._

He sat down again. She lay back against the mattress and closed her eyes, praying that he had not seen the tears.

In the moments before sleep took her, she felt a hand caress her hair. Her heart tightened, crying out.

Perhaps it was only a dream.

**Erik**

He leaned against the frame of the doorway, watching her sleep. The soft glow of the lights bathed her in radiance. Her face was troubled, she shivered. She looked like a broken goddess, lying there so innocently, sorrowfully. A fallen Astarae, a wounded Persephone. The auburn curls gleamed like firelight, on her face, he saw the sheen of tears. He flinched. Longed to sit beside her and wipe away the tears, feared what might happen if he did.

_Goddammit. What are you doing to me, Christine?_ Her so-called 'boyfriend' had brushed closer to death than Erik wanted to think about.

_I was ready to kill him_. The thought shook Erik to his core. The knowledge that he had been prepared to end a man's life sickened him. That he would treat life so casually... he shuddered. When he had seen Christine, half-conscious and seemingly unaware of anything around her, broken and bleeding...

He had come so close to the breaking point. So close... He had been prepared... eager, even, to end another human's life, when he saw Meg gasping for air, Christine huddled on the floor. Erik had _wanted_ to kill the man who had hurt them, had wanted to watch the life flee from his body...

_What's happening to me? _The man had charged him, Erik had intended to deliver a killing blow to the back of his neck.

And then he had looked into her eyes. A world of meaning that he had not had time to decipher had passed between them in that glance. The wave of self-disgust broke him from the bloodlust pounding through his veins. He had not killed. For her sake, he had spared the man's life.

_What are you doing to me?_

She flinched in her sleep, a muffled cry twisting her face. He was there before he realized that he had moved. Seated on the bed, staring down at her. Stroking the hair back from her face, he shushed her. "It's all right, Christine. You're safe. I'm here. I'm here." He repeated the words, a soothing litany, to lull the young woman beside him.

She moved toward him in sleep, curled up against him. He froze, afraid of waking her. Fearful of what he might see in her eyes if she woke and found them like this. _Christine... _

"No-_ Raoul- no!" _Her scream sent chills down his spine. It was a sound of pure anguish, heartbroken grief. He knew the keening she felt in her soul. He had made that sound once. A grief that struck the heart like lightning stuck a tree, shattering it into shards of dying wood, blasting it to useless pieces... Where had she learned such sorrow?

"Christine!" He shook her. He could not watch this. He could not watch the tears stream down her face, the eyes open and unseeing, black with despair. "Christine, wake up!"

She went completely still. Her head turned slowly, shaking, toward him. "I'm sorry." Her eyes were reddened, voice thick. "I'm so sorry." She grabbed a fistful of his shirt, body tremoring with gut-wrenching sobs. "I didn't mean to. I didn't mean for it to happen..." Her eyes were half-delirious on him. "Erik?" He wondered whether she knew is she was dreaming or awake. Something in her manner made him believe the former was more likely.

He held the girl closer, feeling her shiver as her body molded to his. "I'm here, Christine."

Her mouth trembled. "I'm so selfish, Erik. He shouldn't have listened to me, I shouldn't have..."

She was rambling, Erik realized. He pressed a hand to her forehead. The skin underneath his fingers was flaming.

_"Shit!"_

He rose, intending to get cold cloths, something, anything.

She clung to him, nearly bringing them both to the floor. "Please don't leave me, Erik. Don't leave me alone!" Her voice was a tremulous plea, begging for someone, anyone, to hold her, to wipe away the tears and tell her that the night would not last forever. That there would be daylight again.

_What happened to you, Christine? _He could hear her heart crying out in an effort to get anyone to listen. Anyone...

He leaned against the headboard, she half-crawled into his arms. Her eyes were black pools of despair, he dared not even guess their depth. She was frail, so frail against him, as though a single word would break her. Her face was buried in his neck, hands clenched against his shoulders. Her body was a knot of terror, curled up into a small ball of grief.

He held her closer, stroking the tearstained face. "It's all right, Christine. It's all right."

"No," she sobbed. "it's not all right. They're dead, I killed them! They're dead because of me!" She turned her face up to his imploringly. "Why, Erik? Why am I alive when they're gone? They didn't deserve it. I deserve it, I should have been the one. I should have-"

"Hush." He did not have the faintest idea what she who she was talking about, but he could feel the guilt rolling off of her. The shame that corrupted that virgin gaze. His arms tightened. "Not a word, Christine."

She ignored him, voice unrecognizable, a cry of pure desperation. "It should have been me, Erik. It should have been me! Why aren't I dead? Why can't it all end?" Her voice broke.

_"Why?"_

He pressed his lips to her forehead. "It would end, Christine, if you'll only let it. Let go, Christine." He said quietly. "Let them rest."

She reached up, mouth brushing his jawline tentatively. He froze, startled by the flurry of emotions she had sent through him. Desire, shock, need. God how he ached for her.

"Erik?" She whispered, almost too soft for him to hear.

"Yes, Christine?"

"Don't let go, Erik. Don't ever let go."

"Never."


	7. And When I Wake From Slumber

**Disclaimer: I, the author of this phic, do solemnly swear that I do not own POTO or any of the associated music or characters, nor the song "Only When I Sleep" by The Corrs, so help me fanfiction dot net.**

**Thanks for the fantastic reviews, it's a delight to read them. Keep them coming!**

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And When I Wake From Slumber**

**Christine**

Indistinct murmurs echoed through her head. Faint sensations. Tears on her cheeks, a low voice in her ear. Warmth, someone holding her close. The only connection she had with the world.

"Don't let go." She whispered. Shadows whirled around her. She was adrift in a sea without sight, a dark place without up or down, lost in gray oblivion. The touch was the only connection she had with the world, the most tenuous of threads keeping her from losing herself in the numbing ocean around her. She heard faintly, as though across immeasurable distance, a whisper, an angelic voice allaying her fears.

"I'm here, Christine. I'm here." It seemed to say. Heat cupping her body in a shell of reassurance.

_ Raoul? _She wondered.

Her vision swam, slowly coming into a hazy kind of focus. She felt out of touch, the slipper smoothness of the dream world clouding her vision still.

_Am I dreaming?_

She lay in the arms of someone that was not Raoul or Joseph. Christine had the vague feeling that she knew him, from somewhere. His head fell on one shoulder, the left side of his face serene, relaxed. Dark strands swept across his face, she brushed them back with an unsteady hand. He stirred, face moving toward her at her touch. "Christine?' His voice was a bare whisper, almost too soft to hear, hazy as dreams often were. She saw a glimmer of blue between parted lashes, glittering under the dark length of them. The sculpted mouth curved gently.

_An angel._ Christine realized. An angel held her in her dreams. "Angel?" Her voice was faint, as though it came from another, faraway place. She laid her head against the firm chest, the slow rise and fall rocking her back into that place beyond dreams. "Angel..."

Gentle fingers stroked her cheek tentatively. "Sleep, Christine."

She closed her eyes obediently. Her hand, splayed across his chest, wavered. Blue eyes looked on, guarding, as she fell back again into dreamlessness.

Erik

"Angel?" she asks. He does not have the heart to disillusion here. Her eyes are clouded, the rich color of autumn leaves muted with sleep. She looks up at him with trusting eyes, the innocent, unquestioning faith of a child. "Angel."

He dares to touch the girl that rests against him with complete trust. Dares to stroke the alabaster skin, darkened briefly by thin, half-healed scars and lightening bruises.

"Angel..." she murmurs. Her breathing slows, eases. He brushes her cheek with his fingers. "Sleep, Christine." She closes her eyes, laying back against him. He smoothes back the tangled curls from her face. "Sleep."

She is still.

A soft tap at the door stirred him, brought him from that moment beyond time. He slipped away from her, making no noise as he went to the door.

Meg stared, hand raised to knock again. He realized he was still in the clothes from last night. Meg pursed her lips, than seemed to decide against mentioning it. Instead she raises a eyebrow. "Didn't get much sleep"

"No." He replied. "She started having nightmares." He hesitated, knowing he may be invading Christine's privacy. "Did she ever say anything to you-?"

"About something that may have given her nightmares? Only that... she blames herself for her fiancé's death. And, she believes Joseph Buquet is justified in hitting her."

Erik walked over to the table, gripped the edge. Hard.

"Am I too believe, then," he managed "that Christine feels she deserves to suffer?"

Meg crossed her arms defensively. "I didn't say she was rational at the time. I still have my doubts about her reasoning. But, Erik, she's been through a lot. And... I don't think she was very stable in the first place. She seems to depend on others. I think she still did, back then."

His face was completely still, inside his emotions ran rampant. "That would explain a great deal." he said calmly.

Meg seemed slightly unnerved by his poise, but recovered herself. After all, when had she ever seen him lose his carefully cultivated control? The dancer fiddled with her ponytail. "How is she doing?" she asked, as the silence stretched uncomfortably.

"I'm fine, Meg. Thank you." Christine emerged from the spare bedroom, wrapped in a blanket. He had to smile at the picture, the blanket trailed behind her like a cape.

Christine seemed to guess what was so amusing. Her lips formed a small smile. "I suppose I do look a bit ridiculous."

"How are you feeling?" Meg asked, rushing forward to take the other girl's hands. Erik started toward the kitchen.

"I'll put the coffee on, shall I?"

Meg nodded absently, her attention for the most part taken up with Christine. He could hear indistinct voices from his place in the kitchen.

"-are you sure, Christine? Erik said that you were having nightmares." Erik walked into the room in time to catch the end of Meg's question.

Christine frowned, pensive. "Did I? I can't seem to remember anything past..." her voice trailed off, eyes glazing over.

"Joseph?" Meg offered. Christine nodded absently, thoughts locked behind blank eyes. Then she seemed to notice Erik's presence. "How is the theatre doing?" she asked in an effort to change the direction of the conversation.

"I wouldn't know."

"Rehearsals went well yesterday. Nadir handled everything very well." Meg interposed.

"You didn't go?" Christine looked between them, confused.

"You were not in the best of health, Ms. Daae. Someone needed to stay with you."

"But your opera-" she said, flustered.

"Nadir is a perfectly capable person. He has, however, no medical training." Erik replied calmly.

Two phones rang out. Meg jumped, rummaged in her purse. She flipped it open, getting up and walking to the hall. "Hello?"

"Excuse me." Christine nodded as Erik headed for his own phone. He was not sure how he felt that Christine did not seem to remember that night. Relief, regret. _Perhaps it's best she doesn't. _He had been remarkably unguarded with her, and she with him. Perhaps it was better for both of them if she didn't remember, begin to depend upon him. As much as he wished they could have more such time. At least he still had the memory of those magical, surreal hours with her in his arms. In those hours, he had held an angel in his arms, fleetingly.

At least he had the memory... Erik picked up the jangling phone.

"Erik Destler."

Nadir's voice came from the device. "Erik, I'm at the theatre. How is Ms. Daae doing?"

"Christine is a great deal better than she was when she arrived."

"Erik?" Nadir's voice was layered with a strange combination. Warning, caution.

He raised an eyebrow. "What is it, Nadir?" He could imagine the man's eyes boring into him, serious.

"The theatre will talk, you know. This will get out."

"I see no problem with the current state of affairs." Erik snapped. "I will not have my employees abused."

"Some people might see her as more than your employee, Erik."

"Some people need their heads examined. I have dealt with situations of this nature before." Erik replied coolly.

"One of those people is me."

Erik was silent as Nadir continued. "Erik, be realistic. Before, you've always had me find such people a place. You have never taken them into your home, or ignored a rehearsal because of them." He heard Nadir take a deep breath. "I'm just warning you, Erik. Be careful. There are some who might want to see her brought down."

"Like who?" Erik was no stranger to the cutthroat business of the opera world, but who would want to hurt Christine?

"Janet, for one. She's still fuming over her replacement. And she does have a small circle of- associates- in the theatre. So even with Carlotta's protection, Christine is quite vulnerable to... rumors."

"_Carlotta's_ protection?" Erik asked incredulously.

He could practically hear Nadir shrug. "Don't ask me how she managed it, I've no idea. But she's lucky she has it. Janet is still having difficulties accepting this... exchange of hats."

"Nadir, people will realize that she is jealous. Do you honestly think they will listen?" Erik knew very well what the answer was. Humans lived off of gossip, whether it was rooted in truth or not.

Nadir knew as well. "You know better than that, Erik"

"Then deal with it." Erik was surprised at how cool his voice sounded. "I don't care about the particulars of the matter, just deal with it."

Nadir's voice was unsurprised. "You do care about her."

"What brings you to that conclusion, Nadir?" His voice lowered to a dangerous purr.

"For a man who wears a mask, you're remarkably transparent, Erik." He paused. "It's not my business, Erik, but... be careful."

Erik sighed. "Thank you for that remonstration, Nadir"

Nadir's voice had a quirk of a smile in it. "I am delighted to serve in any little insignificant way that I can."

"Including acting as my conscience?" Erik shook his head, amused.

"Well, seeing as you don't seem to listen to your own common sense-"

"Nadir," Erik began warningly.

The man interrupted himself. "Oh, excuse me, Erik. One of our stagehands is throwing a tantrum. I told them I wouldn't let them play, even while you're not here, and they seem to take it quite badly." There was a loud explicative from Nadir's end, and then a hurried goodbye from the man himself.

Erik hung up the phone, smiling to himself. Yes, Nadir had everything in hand.

He walked back out as Meg emerged from the hall. She looked distinctly harried. "I'm terribly sorry, Christine, Erik, but I have to go. The pharmacists have mixed up mother's medication _again _and she's giving them hell and..."

"And heads will roll if you do not get over there in time." Erik finished. "Give your mother my regards, Meg."

She nodded distractedly and practically flew out the door.

**Christine**

She woke. Erik had had her rest again after forcing water and a small, mild meal upon her. She lay in the darkness, thinking. Erik had seemed distracted after the mysterious phone call, his usual facade slipping often as he ran a hand through his hair, stared into nothingness. "Erik?" she had ventured after a while. "What's wrong?"

He had started, seemingly surprised to see her, than the charm-the-birds-from-the-trees smile was in place. "Problems in the workplace." he replied to her unasked question

"Problems about me?"

"You are annoyingly intuitive." he collapsed into a nearby chair.

"I'm sure I'll be ready in time, Erik. How could I not, with such a great tutor?"

He looked over the back of the chair at her, a hint of a smile on his face. "Flatterer."

"It's not flattery if it's truth."

"Flatterer." he repeated, a wicked glint dancing in his eyes. "I think it's about time you slept again."

"I think you're right." she had replied. He had to help her to her room, she didn't quite trust her feet.

And now she woke, a strain of the strangest music floating around her, a soft voice singing, velvet and tender.

She rose, hypnotized, and headed toward the sound.

_"Close your eyes _

_let your spirit start _

_to soar..."_

She paused, leaning against the door. The last note vibrated through her being, leaving a bright trail in its wake. Her eyes were closed as she savored the inhumanly beautiful sound. Soft, sensuous. Intoxicating.

The door was ajar, she pushed it open gently. Moonlight entered through the windows, bathing him in soft radiance. He did not seem to register her presence immediately, as immersed in his music as she was. It was a few minutes, a few more minutes of glorious song, before he stilled and turned. His face was remarkably calm, his pose tranquil.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"A few minutes." she answered, still breathless. "That was..." she was unable to find words to express the wonder of his unearthly, angelic song.

His eyes were soft, assessing. For once, she saw him with all his walls down. Save the white mask which she would not ask about. Not yet. Erik's eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, lit by something more than moonlight. A seraphic light, warm and serene. "Did you need something?"

"I just- I wanted to say- thank you."

His lips curved, white teeth flashing in a smile. "You got up in the middle of the night to say 'thank you'?"

Christine shrugged, remarkably unembarrassed. "What was that song?"

He hesitated. "The Music of the Night."

She seated herself next to him on the bench. "May I hear the rest of it?"

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**Hmmm. Whatever will happen next? **

**Lee **


	8. Where Angels

**Disclaimer: I own zilch. No POTO. No songs by The Corrs. Zilch. Thanks for the fabulous reviews. :) I love dedicated readers.**

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**Where Angels**

**Christine**

Erik smiled sidelong at her and set his fingers to the keys. "Only if you sing to it as well. Quid pro quo, as the Romans would say."

She smiled. "Fair enough." And, under the moonlight, the sound of city traffic faded away under a strange new melody, dark and tender.

_"Nighttime sharpens _

_heightens each sensation _

_Darkness stirs and wakes _

_imagination_

_ Silently the senses _

_abandon their defenses"_

Her eyes were on him, his were immersed in some uncharted world, distant and dreaming. The side presented to her, the unmasked side, was vibrantly _alive_, music seeping through the luminescent eyes, skin glowing under the moonlight, an aura of misty light around him. Christine almost expected him to fade away and leave only the linger of his caressing voice. In that moment, Erik was something more than mortal. A part of something ageless, infinitely powerful. A rush of energy coursed between them, almost tangible. She had never felt so absorbed, so joined, with another's psyche.

_"Slowly, gently night unfurls _

_its splendor _

_Grasp it, sense it,_

_ tremulous and tender _

_Turn your face away _

_from garish light of day _

_Turn you thoughts away from _

_cold, unfeeling light _

_and listen to the music of the night"_

She felt a tear make its lone way down her cheek. What she cried for, she could not name. It was less than thought, and more. It was the emotions so deep that none had yet dared to define them. His eyes were closed, he almost smiled. Erik's face was serene, one with the music and the night.

_"Close your eyes and_

_ surrender to your darkest dreams _

_Purge your thoughts of the life_

_ you knew before _

_Close your eyes,  
_

_ let your spirit start to soar"_

His eyes flew open, blazing like an oriflamme in the darkness. His head turned toward hers, or hers toward his. The intensity in the brilliant eyes, like watching the birth of a supernova, eclipsed the watery light that entered through the glass. The last note seemed to echo around the chamber, inhuman. Her blood raced as his voice lowered, nearly whispering the next words.

_"And you ll live _

_ as you've never lived before"_

His voice dropped, gently for a moment. He seemed lost in thought. Was it regret in his voice? Longing? The blue eyes were upon her, with a message to be read. If only she dared to learn to speak the language once again.

_"Softly, deftly, _

_ music shall caress you _

_Hear it, feel it, _

_secretly posses you"_

The world had ceased to be. Outside of this room, there was nothing. No death, no life. Only the music. Only them. She felt the faint strains of seduction in the music, was swept up in the intoxication. How long had it been since she had let herself feel this way?

_Far too long._

_"Open up your mind, _

_let your fantasies unwind_

_ in this darkness that you know _

_you cannot fight _

_The darkness of the music of the night"_

She sensed something new in his voice. In hers. Intuition told her that change was coming. Beyond these words, beyond this music, they were changing. Something different was being forged with every note, every glance, every moment that passed. The connection was growing stronger, spun like silk under the moonlight. The music swelled around them. A rebirth.

_"Let your mind _

_start a journey through a _

_strange new world, _

_leave all thoughts of the life _

_you knew before,  
_

_Let your soul take you where_

_ you long to be"_

Her breathing quickened. A power unknown to her had entered their combined voices in the crescendo of the song. Raw emotion washed over her, something overwhelming and almost frightening. It hypnotized her, transfixed her. She looked into Erik's eyes, saw the emotion spilling over as it never had before. It was fierce, untamed, unexplored. It was the promise that would bind soul to soul, a dare to step into worlds unexplored. Then it softened, with a soul-shuddering sweetness.

_"Only then can you belong_

_ to me"_

His hand strayed to her hair, lingering. She covered it with her own. His eyes were on her and her alone. They sang not for fame, or fortune. They sang for each other. For the feelings running rampant between them. The music had become a crucible, forging them.

_"Floating, falling, _

_sweet intoxication_

_ Touch me, trust me,_

_ savor each sensation_

_ Let the dream begin, _

_let your darker side give in _

_to the power of the music _

_that I write _

_The power of the music of the night"_

The smile spread slowly across his face in the triumphant notes pounding from the piano. Sweet, heartbreakingly tender. Affection gleamed in the sky-colored eyes, clear and shining like water. Christine felt the gentle smile mirrored on her own face.

_"You alone can make _

_my song take flight _

_Help me make _

_ the music of the night"_

The last notes hung in the air, vibrating through them before fading. She closed her eyes, recalling the sweet echo of the soft music. Opening them, she saw Erik's closed as well, something that transcended euphoria in the uplifted face. Seeming to sense her eyes upon him, they opened in a shocking burst of color.

It was inevitable, perhaps, with the strange currents of emotion flowing around, through, between them. They had bound themselves to each other with the music, now they were drawn to each other, something blossoming like fire coaxed out of dead, brittle wood. Blossoming, unfurling tender petals to burst into heavy bloom. Something raging, consuming them and leaving wildfire in its wake.

His arms encircled her, she reached for him, knelt on the bench, arms around his neck. His eyes gazed up into hers, illuminated by something brighter than moonlight, bright and flaming. She felt one hand sift through her hair, cradle the back of her head and bring her lips down to his.

They met with a jolt, shock waves coursed through her body. Christine felt her physical body go up in flames in the wake of the rush of bliss that swamped her soul.

It was an epiphany. An awakening. A realization that shuddered her and threatened to shatter her.

_ Don't let this end. Don't ever let this end._

They parted, ragged breath like music in the eerily still room. Frozen, they simply stared at each other for a moment. Sky-colored eyes to autumnal eyes. Christine pressed her forehead against his and let out a shuddering breath. He pulled her down gently to lean on him. Curled up against his body, she laid her head on his shoulder and looked up to study the face so attentive on hers. Again there was that sense of revelation, of belonging. She breathed in the warm scent of wood smoke and cinnamon and closed her eyes. His heart was pounding against her ear in sync with her own. He twined long fingers in her hair lazily, she shivered against the caress. His sensual mouth was curved in a gentle arc, his body relaxed against hers.

"Erik?" she said softly.

"Mm?" his eyes moved back to hers, equally soft. His fingers stilled.

She reached up and brought his head down to hers.

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**Fluff, fluff, fluff. I am drowning in a sea of fluff! But very important, very crucial fluff. Turning point fluff. cough Besides, what (in)sane phan ever says no to a bit of E/C fluff? Mm. I advise you to read this while listening to the 'Music of the Night'. It helped me a lot- and it's just that much better if you do. :)**

**So whaddaya think? Click the little review button. You know you want to click the button. **

**cookies n' hugs  
Lee **


	9. Vulnerability

**Disclaimer: Still own zilch. And for all of you who thought the happy, sparkly fluffiness was going to last forever as Erik and Christine rode off into the sunrise, well... I give a wicked grin in your direction. And then I run. Quickly.**

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**Vulnerability**

**Erik**

Erik woke with the awareness that all was not as it usually was. For one, he had a crick in his neck. For another, he was on the couch. And- there was someone with him. He glanced down, saw a tumble of russet curls spilled across his chest.

Christine Daae was curled up against him.

_ Shit. I did not just- _

The blanket slipped off of her shoulder to answer his question- no he had not taken advantage of Christine Daae.

_Like hell you didn't, Erik. She was emotionally fragile, you _knew_ she was fragile, dammit, and what do you do? Pounce on her like some goddamnn insensitive jerk._ _You_ idiot.

Erik slid from the couch, careful not to disturb her, and made his way toward the kitchen. His head was pounding, and his conscience wasn't done with him yet.

_ You had to kiss her, Erik. Could you have done _anything _more monumentally _stupid_? Do you _want _her to become dependent on you? Think of what it would do to her! _

He cursed himself fluently in three more languages. Of all the stupid things he had done, this topped them.

_She wasn't _near _ready for anything like that, Erik. What were you thinking! Why did you have to let your own damn needs get in the way? You'll be lucky if she's only infatuated with you. What if she convinces herself that she's in love with you- what then? _

He resisted the urge to pound his head, slowly and repeatedly, against the wall. Guilt had started to set in.

Erik did not enjoy guilt.

"Erik?" Christine emerged, yawning, from the other room. She seemed relaxed, contended even. "I smelled coffee." Then she frowned. "Erik, are you all right?"

He was staring at her, the innocent young girl in front of him. _What am I going to tell her? How can I explain- all this?_

"Christine," he began quietly, words slow to control the calm of his voice. "I'm sorry about what happened last night." He saw the first stab of hurt in her eyes and continued swiftly. "You were emotionally vulnerable and I took advantage of that. I don't want you to become dependent on me, Christine, and that's what will happen if this continues. I think it's better if we keep our relationship platonic."

He waited for the hammer to fall.

**Christine**

Christine was breathing in short, shallow beats. "You're _sorry_ about last night. Erik, don't be ridiculous." Her eyes were wide and shocked. Her voice had a tinge of hysteria, bordering between laughter and tears. _I can't believe him. Just when I thought I was healing, just as I thought it was safe... I'm_ fine. _I'm perfectly _fine. _Why can't he see that?_

_But what if you aren't?_ whispered a little voice in the back of her mind._ What if he's right? He's doing you both a favor, Christine, he doesn't want to hurt you. What if you are vulnerable, even- flawed. He wouldn't want to damage you any more. _

What if it was _because_ she was damaged that he felt compelled to keep her at arm's length now? Bile rose in her throat. _Face it, Christine, you're broken. Why would he want an emotionally scarred, masochistic girl who hurts everyone she loves?_

_ Last night was a dream, Christine. Wake up. He's too good for you. He's whole, and you're broken. You know it, he knows it. So why don't you just thank him for giving you a place to stay and try to stay out of his love life. _

Still, as she looked up into the maelstrom of his blue eyes, she felt as though something in her was splintering. Torn like silk, ripped and shredded. He, for his part, looked frozen, impossibly still, tense. Erik's face was strained, she wondered how desperate he was to distance himself from her, to erase the memories of that moonlit room, that strange, sweet sound.

"If that's what you want." she replied tonelessly.

His eyes were bright on hers. "It's best, Christine. I don't want to see you become dependent on me. We both have a lot of healing to go through before anything could happen between us. Please," he seemed frozen in place, the words overlaid with a rush of tenuous emotion. "tell me you understand."

She wiped all trace of expression from her face as she raises her eyes to his. "I'm trying, Erik. Thank you for-" she hesitated, searching for the right words. "the past few days. I'll call a cab and see you at rehearsals later."

There was a trace of pain in his voice. She did not look at him. "You're welcome, Ms. Daae. I shall see you at the rehearsal." he responded softly. Christine felt her stomach clench.

**Erik**

After she had gone, he stood and stared at the doorway. He knew that he had done the right thing.

That didn't mean it had been the easiest thing. To look into those dark eyes, to see the betrayal there.

He had looked into Hell.

Then, his marrow froze as she went silent, subdued. He could not see the thoughts behind those suddenly opaque eyes. But he could guess.

_She thinks she's worthless. I'm to blame, and she thinks that she isn't good enough. That she'll end up hurting us. How could I..._

Five minutes later, he was on the phone with Nadir.

The man sounded, to say the least, disgruntled. "Erik, have you any idea what ungodly hour it is?"

"Nadir, I just did something incredible stupid"

"What else is new?" Nadir snapped. Then he seemed to process the thought. "How... stupid?" He asked cautiously. "What happened with Christine Daae?"

"How-" Erik spluttered.

"Shut up and tell me."

Erik gave him the full story- well, most of it. Any mention of last night was very abbreviated and left unelaborated.

"...what the hell have I just done?" Erik ended.

"Something incredibly stupid." Nadir retorted. "Honestly, Erik, I realize why you did it, and I agree with you completely on that count." He paused. "But you went about it in one of the worst ways possible. You completely sprung this on her, now she'll be questioning her value as a person and thinking that she's not good enough for you."

"Nadir... do you think that you could..." He was distinctly uncomfortable at having to ask a favor of the man.

"Yes?" Erik had the feeling that Nadir was inclined to make this difficult on him, as the sky had not even begun to lighten. He abandoned all pretense of pride. "I need your help."

"You need help, all right." the man muttered. "I think you should hold off any relations with Ms. Daae until the opera is over. But you need to talk to her as soon as possible. Before this gets into the theatre. You see, Erik." he hesitated. "Janet has found out about Christine's 'accident'. "

Erik's vocabulary seemed to be reduced to a certain set of four letter words.

**Christine**

She slammed the door behind her and surveyed the room before her. The police had already cleaned it up.

"Damn it!" She flung herself down on the sofa and allowed herself fifteen minutes of solid crying. _How could I have been so stupid? How could I think we had something that night? Get a grip on yourself, Christine, he doesn't want to deal with a needy child!_

She sniffed, eyed her red-cheeked, puffy-eyed reflection in the mirror hanging in the hall. Tangled hair hung over empty eyes, quivering lips and shoulders._ God, I look like a mess. _Christine started the shower and let the cold water needle her body. _When did life get so complicated? _

_What did I do wrong?_ she asked. _Was it so wrong of me to feel- safe?_ Hot tears made fresh tracks down her face, she closed her eyes and raised her face to the stinging water, let it wash away the bitterness. She could still feel his lips against hers, the press of his cheek against hers.

A sharp sob broke from her. The feel of his arms around her as they drifted into sleep. Protecting her- accepting her. It had been-peace For the first time since the funeral, she had felt _peace. _

"Why did you take that from me?" she didn't expect an answer. But in those few hours, those precious, fleeting hours, she had felt her heart begin to beat again. Her spirit to stir.

She had felt, so briefly, the urge to question. Had she really deserved all that Joseph had given her- cruel words, blows, apathetic betrayal? Erik hadn't seemed to think so.

_What would you want for me, Raoul? Can I betray your memory with this man?_

She could never have betrayed him with Joseph. She simply- could not love Joseph. There had never been the risk of shaming Raoul's memory with Joseph. So she had taken the abuse, the abuse which she deserved for her role in Raoul's death. She had lived with a man that was- ironically- the safest man for her to be with. He would never think of her as more than a possession. There would never be the risk of loving, of hurting another again. He could give her what she deserved and she could suffer as Raoul had.

_Raoul- you told me to find another love. But how can I do that without betraying you? _

_Raoul, how could I know what you want for me_?

There was no answer, no feeling of peace. Only silence.

She forced down the shower knob, toweled her hair dry and slipped into the old, loose clothing on the bathroom counter. She leaned her forehead against the lintel of the door. _What would you want, Raoul? _

A brisk tapping at the door roused her from her stillness. A heavily accented voice came firmly from the door. "Christine, ma cherie, open the door."

Christine made her way to the door, opened the door, too drained to resist.

Carlotta stood there, hands on hips. "Well, you look like hell." she said, eyebrows raised. She swept in. "Sit, Christine. I heard of your- accident. Nadir asked me to come by." The dark brows drew together. "I would have come anyway, had I known. Tell me, ma cherie, what happened between you and those two idiot men?"

Christine let out a breathless laugh, drained. "He- and Meg- came, the night after you found me in the restroom. Joseph had been-"

"Wasting himself." Carlotta inserted. Christine smiled slightly.

"He- started hitting me. Meg came, tried to stop him. He threw her down. Erik stopped him from doing anything more. I blacked out."

"Mm. And what happened at our prince's castle, after he carried you off on his white horse?"

"I- had a nightmare. I don't remember much of it. Bits and pieces. Someone holding me while I cried. And when I fell asleep. Then- later, Meg stopped by. She left and Erik had me go back to sleep"

Christine had not missed the rise of the diva's eyebrows at the word 'Erik', but otherwise, she was still. "Continue."

"I woke up in the night. He was playing something. I followed the sound and..." Christine was unable to continue.

"You kissed him. Or he kissed you." Carlotta said flatly.

Christine buried her head in her hands. "It was... it was..." She breathed in deeply, let it out, shudderingly. "I woke up. He tried to apologize. He said he had taken advantage of me, he didn't want to hurt me. He wanted to keep our relationship... platonic"

Carlotta snorted softly. "And you blame yourself"

"Who else is there to blame!"

"Perhaps Mr. Desler is also responsible. Did that occur to you, that everything is not always your fault, girl? It would seem that you both did something too soon. Now you are paying for it. That does not mean," she continued, black eyes halting the words that sprung to Christine's lips, "that you deserve this. That you are atoning for some kind of crime you committed. No matter what has happened in your past, you cannot ignore the present. And the two of you moved too quickly and ended up hurting each other. Now you must fix it. Tell him-" Carlotta grasped her hands firmly. "Tell him what it is that hurts you so. Tell him why you stayed with that man." The diva rose. "As much as the man aggravates me, he has a gift for compassion. That does not mean he does not make stupid mistakes. Do not be so quick to jump to conclusions about his actions, Christine. I do not think he believes you worthless."

Christine escorted the woman to the door. At the threshold, Carlotta paused, turned. "You may find that you are not the only one with a troubled past, Christine. Be careful."

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**Hmm. Foreshadowing. How many cookies must I give out so my wonderful, very much apprecieated and hopefully pacifistic readers won't try to track me down and throttle me? My writing isn't all that great when I'm being throttled, I'll have you know. **

** cookies n' hugs**

**Lee **


	10. When You're Looking At Me

**Disclaimer: Alms for the poor, anybody?  
Thanks for the lovely reviews, you guys are fabulous!**

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** When You're Looking At Me**

**Christine**

She collapsed on the couch again, completely drained. Carlotta's talk prevented her from soaking the arm of the couch again, but inside she still felt hollow. Eight words echoed through her head. _I do no think he believes you worthless._

Inside her, a painful hope began to bloom again. She tried to quell it, but the diva's words overpowered any small effort of hers. She remembered that night so clearly- so painfully clearly. His eyes had been like the vision of a summer sky at the end of a long and weary tunnel. She had touched him in the music, felt his soul brush hers. A touch that conveyed pain, solitude, long nights of forced apathy. A touch that burned against her, seared her chest with pity and empathy. A touch that brought tears to her eyes; a touch of sheer sorrow, the barest hope in darkness. A plea, a voice in the gloom that begged for someone to see the loneliness.

A reflection of her own soul. She had felt the same words echoed in her spirit. She, too, had voiced a plea in that song. And- Christine closed her eyes- he had answered.

And then daylight had come, and with it reality. The fantasies of the night unraveled. Solitude came back. There was no one to share the emptiness, no one to listen.

She closed her eyes, prayed for sleep to take her fast before she had to face Erik Destler again. And- mercifully- it did.

**Erik**

He stared at the ceiling, leaning his head back against the chair. He had thought that someone had heard him last night- his fears and his torment. He had thought that he heard two souls crying out to each other. Briefly, he had had comfort.

But it could not continue. He could not use her to alleviate his own pain. Never. He could not use that girl. Not after he had seen the fear in her eyes, heard her cry out in her sleep. Not after that night when he had held her while she passed through nightmares that struck her wordless.

_She's still young. There's a chance for her to heal- someone waiting for her. There's a chance that- someday- she can be whole again. _

_But not with me._

He heard the door open. Nadir walked in, arms crossed. "What, no lecture about the courtesy of knocking?"

Then he started and stared as Erik turned to face him. His eyebrows raised. "Erik, you look like-"

"I am sorry I do not meet your standards for male beauty, Nadir." Erik said acidly. "And I don't find that particularly important at the moment. Why are you here?"

"To prevent you from making a fool of yourself. Again." He frowned at Erik's continued silence. "You did ask me for help, you know."

Erik buried his head in his hands and sighed. "I know, Nadir. And-"

Nadir looked at him expectantly. "Hell, Nadir, can you spare me your damn dignity?"

"You've certainly thrown your own away, haven't you?" Nadir let out a slow breath. "I never thought you'd come to me for social advice."

"There's no need to rub it in."

Nadir's lips twitched. "First of all, you shouldn't have sprung that on her. But, since you have, you have to fix it. We can't have our supporting actress become mute every time you two are in the same room."

Erik winced. "Indeed not."

"So," Nadir continued, "you need to talk with Ms. Daae. Preferably not at the Opera House, there are far too many people to overhear you there. Why don't you arrange to meet her during a break? Than you can talk this over."

"And... Erik, if you are serious about Ms. Daae, than I suggest that you give her some kind of overview of your past. You owe her that, if you want to have that kind of relationship with her." Nadir looked calmer now, with plans neatly laid out on the table. He hated, almost as much as Erik did, not to have complete control over a situation.

"As for now," Nadir paused. "I suggest that you get some sleep, Erik. You look half-dead." He rose, heading for the door.

Erik smiled slightly. That was about how he felt. "I shall. And, Nadir"

The man turned back to face him. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

Nadir smiled. "You had only to ask, Erik."

**Christine**

An incessant beeping woke her. She groaned, stirred. Her head pounded.

_God, I feel awful. _She set on the water to heat, washed her face. She looked marginally better than she had earlier that morning. That was to say- she didn't look like she'd been dragged through Hell by the hair. She applied the barest touches of make-up, light enough to look natural, bright enough to hide any telltale signs. She gave up on making her hair manageable, if it looked rather messy, well, that was the current vogue. She dressed with care, somehow it was important to look presentable when she saw Erik again. The thought of facing him today, appearing less than her best, made her cringe.

She listened politely to Andy's chatter, making the appropriate responses when he fell silent. He didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, but then again, he was regaling her with obvious pride over a friend's recent fortune in the scrap metal business. It stirred her from her depression at least, pretending to be delighted as well.

The darkness descended once again as she crossed the threshold. She made her way to the room where she stored her things with Meg.

_Speak of the devil. _Meg was waiting for her, looking expectant.

"Did Nadir send you to give me a pep talk as well?"

The blonde shrugged. "He didn't need to. I told him I would as soon as I heard what happened."

"Does the whole _theatr_e know about this, then?" Christine asked in exasperation.

"No, merely us privileged few." Meg answered solemnly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I already got the talk from Carlotta, but by all means, regale me with your experiences."

"Well." Meg looked at her with a mixture of pity and irony. "I never had a relationship with an employer. But I have dealt with equally idiotic men."

Christine straightened indignantly. "He is not-"

"Well, not idiotic, per se," Meg amended. "Just- hmm. Prone to disastrous mistakes? Anyway," she continued. "Knowing Erik, he's concocted some idea about how he's used you and doesn't want you to get hurt, become dependent on him, etc. He's sweet that way. Thick, but sweet."

Christine sighed into her hands. "You just about quoted him."

Meg's face softened. "Christine, it's not because you're in any way inadequate. Erik is only trying to protect you- and himself. I think he's just as afraid of this as you are. I can't even remember hearing about a woman in his life. He always said that music was the only love in his life. Brilliant as he is, I don't think Erik has much experience with a situation like this, Christine. So you'll have to expect a few mistakes on his part- and believe me, he will make them- and you'll have to forgive him that." Meg inhaled deeply. "I think you and he need to have a talk. Try and see if you can do it during the lunch break, hmm?"

Nadir cornered her after Meg left. "Erik told me what happened. Christine, have you-"

Christine's patience was becoming frayed. "Yes, I am going to talk to him, Nadir. You needn't lecture me."

Nadir raised his eyebrows. "Actually, I was going to ask if you had met Janet yet."

"Oh." Christine flushed. "Oh, I'm sorry, Nadir. I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's just... who's Janet?" she asked, trying to get away from her rude retort.

"The understudy of the actress that you're filling in for. All I can say is- be on your guard."

Christine sighed. "Thank you, Nadir. I'll keep that in mind." _Could I have _one _simple day in this place. Just one uncomplicated day, just _one

Somehow, she doubted it.

She was relieved with how well her scenes went during rehearsal. Carlotta seemed to have some unspoken understanding with the cast and crew that they would be friendly with her. Even those Nadir had warned her against, as part of Janet's clique. Christine was nearly limp with relief as she made her way to the restroom. Her contacts had been irritating her throughout the last scene.

"So." A woman stood watching her with the air of someone who had come home to find a large, unusual species of insect on the floor. She was older than Christine, her face sharply angular, Her bleach-blonde hair was cut in a short pixie cut around her face. She was pretty, in the stick-like grace of an underweight model. "You are Christine Daae."

Christine forced a friendly smile. "Yes. And you are?"

"Janet King." Her pale, unfriendly eyes scrutinized Christine sharply. "The girl who's job you took."

"I-"

"You're shorter than I thought." Janet interrupted her, drawling. "Usually he likes them taller." Her eyes flicked up and down Christine's body. "Curvier. Still, variety is the spice of life, they say."

Heat rushed to Christine's cheeks. "Are you implying that I _slept _my way to this job!" Fierce anger was coursing through her veins.

Again that slow drawl, an attempt at the sophisticated air. "Well, perhaps not _slept_, but-"

"How dare you." Christine said flatly.

The woman snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. How else would _you _get a job in a place like this?"

Christine had not missed the emphasis on the word _you. _"Hmm." she parodied the woman's bored tone, the careful inflection. "Perhaps because I can _sing? _That is the purpose of most Opera Houses, I believe."

"The little that _you_ would know of them." The woman's eyes glittered dangerously. "I suggest you go back to whatever dump you came from, girl. Leave the singing to the people who can, hmm?"

Christine felt a hum of anger under her skin. "No," she replied flatly. "I earned this job fairly, I'll keep it. Since I doubt you have any purpose in being here since you no longer have a part, why don't you go? I'm sure you have better things to do than bother the staff." She knew she was being rude. She didn't care. Her patience had all but run out.

She walked out of the restroom, keeping up a facade of calm. Not looking where she was going, she walked right into someone. "Sorry." she said hastily. She looked up.

Intensely blue eyes met hers.

"Oh. She flushed. All the feelings of inadequacy, resentment, unsurety, rushed back.

He, thankfully, did not call attention to her embarrassment. "Christine. Are you free at break? We need to talk- and I have some apologies to make."

Christine's brain went suddenly numb. "Yes." she managed. "I think that would be a good idea."

He nodded. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Daae."

Looking across the antechamber, Christine saw the reason for his sudden adoption of formalities.

Janet glared at her from across the room. "Whore." The woman walked briskly away in quick, angry strides.

Christine started to go after her, furious, then halted. _It's not worth it, Christine. She's jealous, Get over it. It's her problem, not yours._

She had other things to worry about.

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**Hmm, the infamous Janet appears. Why _is_ she so angry, I wonder?**

**What did you think?**

**cookies n' hugs**

**Lee **


	11. Remember What You Had

**Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or The Corrs. (Sigh) It's not fair, is it?  
Thank you again, everyone who reviewed. You inspire me more than you know.**

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**Remember What You Had**

**Christine**

She looked up at the clock. Both of the hands were pointed skyward. Noon.

And also, ominously, midnight. She headed for the park nearby in which they had agreed to meet, she and Erik.

_ So- will this be the brightest hour or the darkest?_

He was already there waiting for her, the living side of his face revealing as much as the white mask. Which was to say, nothing. Both halves of his face stared at her with perfect, serene symmetry, the only hint of emotion stirring beyond her reach in the depths of the turbulent eyes, deep and flowing as rivers. Ancient rivers, lit to rival the sky in the dawn of the world. His head was raised with perfect poise.

"Christine." There was only the barest tremor in his voice, so elusive that she was not even sure it had existed. He moved to give her room and she lowered herself cautiously to the bench. They were isolated here, in this secluded nook by the pond, shaded by willow trees. Her insecurities pulsed through her veins with every heartbeat. A thousand _what ifs?_ flooded her mind. She did not want to be the first to break the thick silence between them.

He sighed, visibly attempted to relax. "I believe I owe you explanations, Christine." She nodded, not trusting her voice, not knowing that she didn't need to, that her thoughts blazed like flames from her eyes. She inhaled, trying to quell the rising trepidation as his voice continued. "I told you that I didn't want to take advantage of you. I don't. I told you that I didn't want you to become dependent on me. I don't. We have healing to do- both of us, Christine. Until then..."

She clenched her hands in her lap. "I hadn't felt peace for two years until that night, Erik. If anyone was using another, it was me." Christine looked into the brilliant blue eyes. "I know that we're imperfect, Erik. Or, at least I know that I've been broken and you... you've been alone. Don't you think we could help each other? At the very least as someone to share the memories, purge the pain with?"

His eyes flickered down and away from hers. She saw his hands tighten. When he spoke, however, his voice was perfectly calm. Controlled. "I suppose it is only fair to tell you something of my past, Christine, since I know something of yours. In a way, it is my mark, the thing that scars me as the loss of your fiancé does you."

Christine gave the barest hint of a nod. _Continue._

**Erik**

His eyes were on the waterfowl in front of them, but his story was meant for her. And, in some way, himself.

"I was born in the slums. We lived in poverty." The miasma of the streets flooded his senses, the cold grayness, slick mud and hard stone. The scent of despair that had clung to the streets like oil. Hopelessness. The scent of hundreds of people that had given up any hope long ago... "My mother was the one who cared for me. My father blamed her for my-" he gestured to his face "-defect. He beat her. He tried to beat me, and she would try to shield me." She had not always succeed. My father called me the Devil's Child, swore I was no son of his. For a time, I had believed him. I think I would have believed in his words forever had it not been for my mother. She was my first angel. A weary, broken angel with sky-colored eyes that were all too worldly.

"She was the one who found me a tutor, when my teacher claimed that I displayed an aptitude for music. She kept my father from finding out about the music lessons. I sang to her, when he wasn't there. She called me her little angel, sent to her from God's choir." He closed his eyes, remembering. He had loved to sing to her, to see the years fall away from her face, the worry lines smooth, the harried, hunted look soothed. He had sung to her as often as he could, even during her sudden naps, holding her hand and feeling her fingers curl around his palm in sleep. He continued. "She was the one who gave me my first mask. I recall asking her why." A child's confusion, an innocent question. The loving embrace she had pulled him into, eyes shimmering and brimming with warm tears that fell on his hair. The tremulous smile she had offered him.

_"Because some people wouldn't see how beautiful you are, Erik. You'll have to make them hear it"_

His voice was now slightly deeper as he fought for control. "She told me that it was because not everyone would see how beautiful I was, her child. She told me I would have to make them hear it."

Christine's eyes were intent upon his, swirling with the darker emotions. He does not look at her, instead staring at the ruffled waters of the pond. "My father found out about the music lessons. One night he came home, drunk out of his mind. He found a knife.'

'He killed my mother." The struggle was still vivid in his mind, still haunted his nights. His mother, smiling at him as he studied the music sheets, looking intent and serious with all the dignity of a ten year old boy. The door had slammed open- he had seen the whites ring her eyes as she turned. His father- coarse, unshaven- had stormed in, flooding the room with the stench of cheap alcohol and fear. His father had grabbed a knife from the drawer. His mother had flung herself in front of him, shoving him out of harm's way. The knife had descended on her, he had heard the discordant scream that broke from her like out-of-tune music. The walls had been sprayed with blood, vividly, sickeningly red against the faded, peeling wallpaper. His mother had crumpled to the floor, limp and lifeless, the kind eyes, Erik's own heaven-tinted blue eyes- clouded and unseeing. His father had kicked her unresisting body out of the way, came after Erik...

"He went after me. I put the kitchen table between us. He tripped over a chair, impaled himself on his own knife.' The shock of seeing his father still and unmoving, the creature of terror dead by his own hand. He had sat there, by his mother, unmoving, trying to absorb the strange, sudden turn of events that held him in limbo. Hearing a pounding, dissonant requiem in his heart as he sat in the darkness.

'The police arrived soon after that. One of the neighbors had called." Strange, official looking men at the door, forcing it open, dragging him from his mother's side where he was trying to sing her awake. They had given him over to a matronly woman who explained that he was going into something called 'foster care'. Erik tried to explain that he only wanted his mother, where was she?

The woman's eyes had filled, and she made no answer. She hadn't needed to. She had put her arms around him and held tight the frozen boy who questioned her with brightly blue eyes.

"I was put into foster care. Some of them were kind. Some of them were... less so." He shivered and forced back the dark memories that stirred in the murky shadows. He still would not meet her eyes, instead staring at his clasped hands. "I devoted myself to music, for my mother's sake. I received a scholarship. majored and made my career in music. And... here I am."

He started as he felt slim arms go around his neck. Christine's eyes were endless pools of sorrow as they stared into his.

"I don't want your pity, Christine." he stated calmly, trying to ignore the fire that had ignited where she had touched him. A fire of anger, fear, or something else entirely?

She managed a tremulous smile. "It's not pity, Erik." One slender white hand stroked his hair, held his head against hers. He would not look at her, not now, not with the strange emotions of the past risen from their graves. Not when the memories held him fast.

"What is it then, Christine?" His voice was soft, so soft he thought she might not have heard it. She brought his head up, his eyes meeting hers reluctantly, afraid to see the pity he had abhorred in others. It was not there. There was caring, even... love in the eyes lit amber by the sun. They were a reflection of what his had been, the night that he had held her through the darkness, through the nightmares. He let it cascade over him like sunlight, like rain in the desert. Her voice came, quiet and sure.

"Empathy."

**Christine**

It tore at her heart to see the astonishment that one simple word had brought. The startlingly blue eyes stared at her in shock. He seemed unable to move, to reply, to do anything but look at her with wondering eyes.

_What has the world done to you, Erik? Have they never seen past the mask, heard the music in the night?_

She felt tears make their way down her cheeks. Tears for the child Erik had been, the child that had lost the only person who loved him, who heard past the song and seen the singer behind, a lonely child of the streets, the phantom voice amid the poverty.

The boy who had been called both angel and devil.

He reached, brushed away the tears. "Christine?" Strange as it seemed, he could not seem to understand _why_ she was crying.

"It's just that-"

An odd smile curved his lips. "You cry for me when you won't cry for yourself?"

"Why would I deserve tears?" Her laugh was bleak, she looked down, away from the eyes that seemed to look . _Why would anyone cry for me? Why would I cry for myself? Raoul deserves tears, not me._

He placed his fingers along her jawline, lifted her eyes back to his. "Why don't you tell me, Christine?" His eyes were intent, compelling her to speak, hypnotizing.

_Will he judge me?_

She steeled herself against the memories.

"Raoul and I were high school sweethearts." Her voice sounded distant, as though it were someone else telling their story. "We grew up together, went to the same schools, went to the same college to get a degree in music.'

'It was freshman year when he proposed to me. I said yes- as long as we finished college before we married. He agreed." Her eyes glazed over, reliving that magical night, the riverside dinner, the classical concert where they spread a blanket on the grass and let the music wash over them like ocean waves. When- as she threw her arms around him and agreed to marry him- the fireworks had begun to burst. She continued in a monotone. "It was our last year in college when he died. I had an audition, I begged him to be there. He promised he would."

_"Raoul- I need you there- I can't do this on my own- say you'll be there!"  
He smiled affectionately. "Don't worry about it, Christine. I'll get out of the meeting early, I'll be in the audience before you've even started singing." His voice softened. "Don't worry, Christine. I'll always be there."_

She turned away as she felt her eyes burn. "He wasn't there. I couldn't see him in the audience when I sang, he wasn't there to congratulate me when I finished. I was... angry with him."

Her shock- why hadn't he come? Didn't he know that she had needed him there, more than anything? Didn't he know that she had sung for him, hoping he was out beyond her sight in the darkness?

"I got a call from the hospital." The beeping of her cell phone, a cheerful ring tone. A death knell.

"They told me that someone had found him on the highway. His car had skidded on the ice, he had gone off the road. He was conscious. He told them to call me.'

'They told me he was dying." She had rushed to the hospital- ironically, painfully, so close to the theatre- within walking distance. She had run so quickly, she thought she might leave her soul behind in the snow. "I ran into the hospital. They took me to see him."

His face- so white, so drained. Where was the laughing, carefree boy she had known only that morning. He looked older, the wreck had ravaged the left side of his body, shattered glass had opened the left side of his face, and the stitches could do nothing against the angry red they had turned. His eyes were glassy, fogged with the pain that the morphine could not entirely rid him of. The doctors feared to give him too much, to end his life sooner than it would, as the blood loss did its work.

"I watched him die. I was there, holding his hand until he slipped from life. He made me promise not to give up my music, to find someone else... But I didn't think I'd want anyone else. It would be someone else to be hurt because of me." She trailed off for a moment. "I started living with Joseph. I couldn't love him, so I couldn't hurt him." Christine sighed. "You know the rest."

Erik's arms came around her, warm and wonderfully solid. "Do you honestly think that some god is punishing other people for your alleged sins, Christine? I can understand your pain, Christine- but I can't understand why you cling to it."

His voice lowered, his eyes were like sunlight on the ocean. "Let go of the past Christine. Do you think that's what your fiancé would want for you? Wasted years, never letting the past rest?"

She tried to smile. "You're an awful hypocrite, you know."

He smiled back. "So I've heard. How are you feeling?"

"Relieved. Confused." She glanced at the shadows that had lengthened. "Should we go back now, and talk about this more later?"

Erik rose with her, keeping an arm around her shoulder. Christine allowed herself to take in the sensation, the sense of warmth and belonging that she had not felt since...

_Is it... is it possible to love again after your heart has broken?_

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**So... the mysterious Erik does have a past. Review, tell me what you think.  
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	12. And If Yesterday I Heard

**Disclaimer: Still not won the lottery. So no, don't own any POTO or The Corrs.  
Thank you all so much for the reviews- there's no greater reward.**

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**And If Yesterday I Heard**

**Janet**

She was wordless, when she heard their confessions. Erik- she dared think of him as her Erik, orphaned and abused.

She had loved him from the moment he had stepped into the auditorium. The electric charge he had brought into the room, the flashing eyes and fearless manner. The incredible poise and pride, the slightly sinister mask. He had captivated her with his fencer's grace, his bold air.

_The double doors to the auditorium swung open, a tall, lithe figure moving from the light-spilled antechamber to the darkened theatre. The managers had hastened to greet him, groveling, she thought distastefully, as was their wont. It had seemed to irk him as much as it pleased Carlotta. He had drawn near, she had seen the left side of his face, darkly beautiful, the shockingly blue eyes that radiated power. _

_He had turned to answer the query of one of the leading actors. She caught a glimpse of the white half-mask, frightening and intriguing._

He had never seen her. She worshipped him from the shadows.

She followed him, one day, heard him singing in the room he tutored the unworthy bitch-girl in. It was then- had he only known it- that she lost her soul to him.

Vowed herself to the angelic voice and the soul-wrenching music pounding from the piano. Sworn herself to the hypnotic blue eyes and predator's grace.

Her heart pounded. Somewhere inside her, something beat frantically, urging her on. _She can't have him. It's not supposed to be that way, it's wrong, it's wrong. I won't let her take you from what's yours, Erik. She can't ever love you the way that I can. _

_I won't let this go on._

**Christine**

She fished in her purse for her keys.

_Oh. No._

Searching frantically through her purse, she paled. And resisted the urge to bang her head against the wall. Where on earth were her keys?

Finally, she had to conclude that she had lost them. Frowning, she thought of who she could call and ask for help, fiddling with her phone absently. Meg's mother had come down with bronchitis, she had enough on her hands. Carlotta... she owed the diva too much already. Her old cafe friends she was not comfortable with asking. That left only...

"Hello?"

_This is so embarrassing._ Christine forced cheer into her tone. "Hello, Erik, it's Christine." She paused. "I, um, locked myself out of my apartment and I seem to have misplaced my keys." She laughed ruefully. "I guess this just isn't my week."

"Do you need a place to stay?"

Christine breathed an inner sigh of relief. _Bless him_. She was grateful for the calm, easy way he was taking this in stride. "Yes, would I be a burden if I-"

"I'll come and pick you up."

"Thank you." she said fervently.

She would have sworn he was smiling. "It's not a problem, Christine. I'll see you in a few minutes."

"Goodbye. Thank you again." She ended the call and settled down to wait.

**Erik**

_I am either extremely lucky- or Fate has something particularly nasty up its sleeve for me._ He really preferred to think it was the former.

He thought over the conversation they'd had only hours ago. It explained a great deal on her part. The strange mixture of longing and guilt she'd shown around him. _Does she feel she'll be betraying him if she and I..._

She had as much as told him she longed for this as much as he. Longed with that soul-deep need that shivered her at her core.

_Is it... possible for her to learn to love again?_

**Christine**

She leaned against the railing, the cold metal giving her chills, watching for his car from above. Her relief at finding a place to stay was balanced with nervous butterflies in her stomach. The thought of seeing him again, especially with the memory of their last conversation fresh in her mind, was both frightening and soothing. The thought of what she might see in his eyes, should she dare to look...

_Raoul... do you think I could find peace with him? You always said that you wanted my happiness above everything else. Would you approve if I found happiness with this man? _She stared out into the cloudy sunset. A wash of orange and rose ribbed the clouds, flaming against the darkening sky. It was utterly silent.

Something in her was suddenly at peace.

"Well, well, Christine. This is the last place I thought I'd find _you_."

Christine whirled at that all-too-familiar voice. _Oh, God._

Joseph Buquet leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "I thought you were-" she stepped back, felt her spine hit the railing.

He shrugged casually. "I'm out on parole. A very obliging government we have, don't you think Christine?" A malicious smile played at the corners of his mouth as he walked toward her, arrogant, assured.

Her mind was on fire, racing with all of the self-defense techniques she'd ever heard on the television, in school, from her friends. She flashed on the mace in her purse. All it would take was one quick spray, and then-

Odd. She wouldn't have even considered that before.

"So Christine," he continued. He took a step toward her, effectively blocking her in. "I think we have a few things to say to each other." She could see the anticipation in his face, his eyes caressed her face, ran up and down her body, she imagined he the bruises he planned to put there.

She sidestepped his hand, reaching out for her waist. "I think we do." She looked straight into the dark, predator's eyes. And somehow the words kept coming. "I used to let you hit me. I used to let you degrade me, dehumanize me. I thought I deserved it."

She glared into the storm's eye.

"I don't think that anymore."

Joseph raised an eyebrow with his old sardonic assurance. "No? Don't forget, Christine, you caused your fiancé's death." He smiled viciously at her shock. "Oh, yes, Christine, I know. What do you think you've said in those nightmares of yours? Good Lord, I wouldn't like to repeat it here. People might talk."

She smiled back, steely. In that moment, she was fearless. "Do you know something else, Joseph?"

He emitted a groan at her sudden, completely unexpected, move and fell to the floor. She stepped over him, turned, arms crossed.

"I've stopped deluding myself."

**Erik**

He turned into the lot, looked up to see Christine watching out for him from stairs.

Only- there was someone behind her. And Erik had a sneaking suspicion as to who the mysterious shadow was.

His suspicion was confirmed when the figure came into the dying light. Christine whirled, jumped back, her hands gripping the rail. Erik turned the keys in the ignition and threw open the door. _Shit._

He took the stairs three at a time, then froze on the landing as Christine swept over to him. Her head was held scornfully high, eyes alight. She looked regal, seraphic, as she turned to face the man hunched over on the floor.

"Goodbye, Joseph." Her voice was level and calm. Her eyes blazed. She looked up into his eyes, smiled.

There was nothing of a child in her eyes. She took his hand and led the way down the stairs.

**Christine**

Erik seemed in shock. The look on his face when he had stopped on the landing. The emotion that the shining eyes, as they caught the last rays of the sun, sent to her as she walked toward him.

Relief. Pride. Awe. Christine felt drunk on the heady intoxication of freedom. The thought that she had broken the chains that had tethered her for so long tasted like champagne on her tongue, warming her veins. The thought that she would never again take the insults of a man so petty, who knew no joy but hurting others. She felt as though she would burst with the giddying euphoria of it all.

She slipped an arm around his waist, suddenly daring. He glanced down at her, surprised, and she was unable to do anything but smile at him. His eyes danced, he hugged her shoulders. "I've waited so long for you to do that."

"Do what?" she laughed. It seemed the only thing she was capable of at the moment. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes sparkling.

He brushed a stray curl from her face. "Stop running."

She basked in the glow of his warmth. "Well, there's one person I'll never stop running to."

A smile hovered in his eyes. "And who might that be?"

"Carlotta."

She laughed at the blank look of shock on his face. It took him a moment to recover, then he gave her a stern look. "You- are a minx."

"But you love me in spite of it, right?" She was ablaze with her newfound confidence, smiling wickedly at him.

He caught her hand at as the light turned red, brushed his lips against it. She shivered at the sensation. "I wouldn't have you any other way."

"Truly?" she touched his cheek, brushing away the long dark hair as she had always longed to do.

"Truly." He traced her brow, leaned in.

"Erik, the light's green." she said, trying to produce a sensible thought.

"Damn the light." he murmured. She raised an eyebrow at him and he sighed. "Tease."

She blew him a kiss and waited with almost indecent anticipation for the next stoplight.

**Erik**

This was a side of Christine he had never imagined before. This laughing, vibrant woman who glanced at him sidelong.

He quite enjoyed her expansiveness. The sight of her laughing, teasing him, even, was new and intoxicating. Even if it did drive him half-mad.

_ She just might be the death of me._

She knew it too, with that wicked glint in her eyes every time the traffic light flicked on yellow or red, she had something new to torment him with. _And they say the old monarchs had refined torture._

Christine had it down to an art.

Finally they pulled into the parking lot. He turned off the engine, turned to her. She was looking at him expectantly, a smirk teasing the corners of her mouth. He got out of the car before he lost complete control of himself. She joined him, purse in hand. She made as though to walk past him, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

She let out a yelp of surprise as he picked her up. Her eyes danced as she settled against him. The elevator door opened and they entered the, thankfully, empty elevator.

He tapped the button, then, on impulse, kissed the flauntingly smiling mouth. The result of this was several moments of mindless euphoria that bathed him in radiance. He pulled away and she leaned her head against his shoulder, breathing hastened. "That was low." she managed, voice unsteady.

He returned her own wicked smile. "Quid pro quo, Christine."

"I am going to make your life very interesting for that." she promised. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes exuding a fiery glow. He could feel her heart racing against his own. There was an electricity where they touched.

Erik raised an eyebrow. "I look forward to it."

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**Well, it took 12 chapters, but Christine finally deals with her demons. That leaves... hmm. Erik. That should be interesting. **

**Thank you for being so patient with me. I realize I'm a little late, but look at all the EC! Can you find it in your big, warm hearts to forgive me? **

**cookies n' hugs**

**Lee **


	13. Myself Saying These Words

**Disclaimer: Alas. Do not own POTO or The Corrs. But do own shiny POTO 2 disc DVD (happy dance) **

**Thanks for all of your fantastic reviews- you guys are awesome! **

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**Myself Saying These Words**

**Christine**

There was an odd symmetry to their movements that night. A kind of single-minded dance. The way that they wordlessly moved around in the kitchen; he chopping up the salad, her hovering over the stove. Setting out the plates, never bumping into each other, never in each other's way. He opened a bottle of wine, poured them both a measure of the liquid, gleaming like rubies and sunlight.

The hesitant glances they exchanged over their meal. The brashness was gone with the sun, replaced by something deeper, a tremulous and tender current that entwined them. She rose at the same time he did, both of them moving as one.

It was in unison that they moved to living room. He turned, smiled down at her. "Is there anything you'd like to do, Christine?"

She opened her mouth to ask if they might sing once again, together. But no- if they sang together once more, something would be set in motion. Something that neither she nor he would have the will or desire to stop.

And it would be too soon.

And there was something that needed to be done. "

Actually, Erik. I'd like to talk with you about... Raoul."

He looked suddenly wary, the relaxation drained from him. Then, with a visible effort, he lowered himself to the couch and waited.

She sat down across from him, took his hands. They were still in her grasp, almost ready to pull back. She sighed._ Be careful what you say, Christine._

Christine began haltingly. "Erik, you know that Raoul was my fiancé. My first love. I will never forget him. Your first love isn't someone you get over and move beyond. I understand that. So I won't." She held on to his hand as he began to pull it from hers, to tense.

"I've come to terms with it, though. I've accepted that a part of me will always love him. And I've accepted that I can't live on that alone.'

'Not after I've found someone else."

His eyes were unreadable, blue fathomless depths. His face was eerily statuesque. "I'm not sure what you're saying, Christine."

She matched him stare for stare._ God, don't let me say the wrong thing. _"I'm saying, Erik, that, although I will always love Raoul, it will never be in the way I love you. I could never replace him- and I don't want to try. That would be a hollow kind of love, don't you think?" Part of her froze at those words, froze at the daring of them, but she continued recklessly on, desperate to bring a flicker of expression to that still face. "Raoul was my first love, Erik. I want you to be my last."

His face was, even now, distressingly expressionless. "Are you sure of that, Christine?"

Christine turned intent eyes on him. "You could never replace the love between Raoul and I, Erik." Her voice was calm, serious.

He jerked back, a flicker of shock going across his face.

_Damn. I knew I'd say something stupid._ She plunged on. "Erik, my love for Raoul was-"

"-Irreplaceable, yes." His voice was distinctly cool.

She fixed him with a look. "Will you let me finish what I was saying?"

"By all means, continue." Erik's blue eyes had assumed an icy tint.

"My love for him was the love of a girl, the love of a friend. It was compatability. He was entirely different from you, Erik. When he held me, there was only- safety. When you hold me, it's- belonging. He was caring, shied away from arguing with me. He shielded me from everything. I was dependent on him, Erik. It was not like- like you and I. You protect me, yes, but you'd never let me be anything but myself. You're not afraid I'll break without you." She felt a prickling at the back of her eyes.

"You're not afraid to let me love you as more than..." she trailed off, wishing she could find the right words. How could she tell him- tell him that Raoul would never have formed this soul-deep, searing bond between them. That he had not brung her the awakening that Erik Destler had.

_How can I tell him?_

She looked into the blue eyes, saw there was no need to. The ice had thawed under the blazingly blue eyes. A hesitant smile, tender in a way that made her tremble, curved the mouth that had been so tightlipped a moment ago. He reached out and embraced her; her arms went around his waist.

"I think I understand what you're saying, Christine." he whispered into her ear. His eyes were intimate, warm on hers. "I hope I am, at least."

To her embarrassment, she felt a tear gather, spill, at the corner of her eye. He kissed it away, lips lingering. Christine closed her eyes as he left a trail like fireflies in a summer sky. She buried her face against his neck. "I think you do, Erik. I think you do."

His only reply was to hold her to him more tightly. She smiled and settled against him, content.

**Erik**

God. He had been afraid- so afraid when he heard those words. That he couldn't replace Raoul.

He didn't want to, hadn't she understood that? He had frozen, every instinct was warning him that, despite what his logical side had been trying to tell him, Christine Daae was going to walk out of his life forever. Leaving only her voice singing songs in his head.

But she hadn't. She had told him that- she loved him.

How often had he heard that? How often since his mother died and he was left with only his music?

Never. His heart began to beat again after those words. It was all he could do not to break down in front of her. Only now, as she lay against him in sleep, did he let the tears fall at last. He had never been a religious man, not with his upbringing, not with the death of his mother, but this was somehow sacred.

_Thank you. If You exist, than- thank you for this. _

_For her._

He would have been more than happy to sit there with her in his arms, forever.

It seemed someone else had other plans. There was a firm tap from the door.

Christine stirred slightly, half-murmering a question. He slipped from her gently, cursing whoever was calling at this time of night for being seven kinds of an idiot. He opened the door as quietly, and as irritatedly, as only he could manage.

And was completely poleaxed.

Carlotta stood on his doorstep- the last person he had expected to seek him out for conversation. He stepped outside, shut the door gently behind him. "May I ask why you are here, madam?"

"I am aware that you have spoken with Christine."

_ Busybody._

"Yes, we have." He raised an eyebrow.

"And your intentions toward her are honorable?" Erik resisted the urge to give her what he would have called a witty retort. She just might hurt him.

The mothering instinct did frightening things to women as far as Erik was concerned.

"I have no intention of letting Christine get hurt again, Carlotta." He put as much sincerity in it as he could, considering how irritated he was at being dragged away from Christine's side.

"I shall assume that I may skip the- what do you call it- the birds and the be-"

He cut her off. "Most definitely."

"Then I shall settle for telling you that she is delicate. Be careful. If you lose your temper around her- if you hurt her, I, along with every other female of the theatre, will see you personally emasc-"

"Your concern is touching. If misplaced." Erik snapped. The idea of garroting her was particularly appealing. "I will not let Christine be hurt again, especially by me. Did you think that I would harm her?" he asked fiercely.

She raised heavy brows at him, unintimidated. "Vell. Meeracles do 'appen. I vish you both 'appiness."

Her accent had thickened. Erik suspected she did that just to annoy him, now that she was no longer so concerned with the situation at hand.

He paused a moment. "Carlotta?"

She put her hands on her hips, expecting some sort of argument now that the real discussion was over.

"Thank you- for watching over Christine in the theatre."

A flicker of surprise went over her face. Erik couldn't blame her. The last time he had exchanged a pleasantry with anyone to her knowledge was the last time she had sung well to his knowledge.

She recovered, looking imperious. "You're velcome. I shall continue to do zat."

Erik winced as she stepped away. Why must she use that- accent with him? Didn't she know how it made him cringe?

Probably. Although, at the moment, he was willing to forgive her for it.

**Carlotta**

She hadn't been sure what she would find when she went over there. She knew that Erik Destler was a decent man, if a bit unfathomable and cool at times. But would he be suitable for Christine? She was warm and young, his opposite in many ways. She loved him- was it enough if he loved her back? Or would she be hurt again- at his hands?

Somehow, she didn't think she needed to worry about Christine coming to any harm by Erik. Something in the way she had seen Christine through the door, curled catlike on the couch, smiling in her sleep. Something in the way he had closed the door ever so gently, his voice pitched not to wake her.

Somehow, she thought, they would manage.

**Janet**

_Damn!_

She slammed her fist against the wall. All of the time it had taken to find the bitch's address, to take her keys, and she wasn't there!

_ Why didn't she have a spare, damn her? _Christine would have been the type to have a spare. Janet knew the breed. Insecure.

Weak.

She stood scowling in the apartment. Than she locked the door behind her, and went to work. The bitch may not have been there, but everything Janet needed to know about her was. Janet strode into her room, opening and closing drawers, checking the shelves in the closet. Her questing hands found a photo album in a neglected corner. Oddly enough, there was no dust on it. Apparently she looked at this quite often.

Janet opened it up. A laughing-eyed man smiled up at her, his arm around the bitch. He was handsome enough, in a pale, effeminate way. Blond, boyish, an easygoing air about him.

Nothing like Erik.

And behind the photos- Janet caught her breath, amazed at her luck- well worn paper, smoothed by constant readings.

Love letters. Between her and this- Janet guessed his name was Raoul.

Janet sat down, let a slow smile spread across her face, and got to work.

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**Hmm. I forsee trouble on the horizon. And I should know. Review please, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this. **

**cookies n' hugs**

**Lee **


	14. Through The Night

**Disclaimer: Don't own POTO or The Corrs. But have new, shiny 2 disc POTO movie, so am happy anyway.**

**Thanks for the reviews- you guys are fantastic! Keep them coming!**

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**Through The Night**

**Christine**

Christine stirred against unfamiliar fabric, stretching her body along its length. Faintly, she heard music. A sense of deja vu swept over her. Just so had she heard him singing that fateful night.

But this was different. This was- mourning. The other had been a plea, a courting almost. This was a plea of a different kind. It spoke of years of emptiness, with nothing but music. No living soul to fill the silence.

She rose, silent and sylph-like, went toward the sound, drawn inevitably to it. There was a desperate urge to listen- to help the sorrow in the melody find peace. To help the man behind it- to teach him to heal. It was a drive deeper than her own needs, any loss she had felt was poured into the music. All the sadness of the world.

Shame. Guilt. Remorse. Christine's soul was drowning in it, the music in her mind, in her soul, a shadowed requiem.

_God, Erik. Is this what there's been for you? Since she died? Has no one ever been there to hold you, to tell you they love you since her?_

She was, for the first time, seeing clearly into the darkness. Into the shadow-world of his grief where he had never allowed her before. It was as though she were walking through the dream again, the shadowed streets, whispering things just out of sight beyond the flickering circles of light. And he, in the midst of the labyrinth. Surrounded by cold stone, trapped in a maze of frozen screams.

_ Oh, Erik. _Her heart ached, a swollen throb that caught in her throat, a burning in her eyes, the taste of salt sliding over skin. In the music she heard a prisoner. Walking ceaselessly in his cage, resigned and weary. A longing that was almost tangible; torment and regret. The hopelessness of one who has walked alone all of their lives. The hopelessness of one who knows nothing else.

She could not listen to this happen. Despite that she had told him she loved him, there was a part of him that she had not yet reached, a part of him that he had confined deep within the shadows of the night. A part that he had hidden as he had hidden his face from the world.

It was a part of him that she refused to leave there any longer. This strange, beautiful man had lifted her from her hopelessness. He had shown her light where there had only been darkness. He had shown her the music in the night where before there had been only fear and torment.

_Erik, let me lead you, save you from this solitude_.

_"No one would listen.  
No one but her heard as the outcast hears."_

She saw his outline against the piano, a break in the gleam of moonlight on the black, shining surface. There was a melancholy feel to his words. She could almost hear the thoughts behind the music. _I dream of things so beautiful it hurts to hear them. I hear a beauty in the night that has been unheard for centuries. Why won't you listen to it with me? _Christine fought the sob that sought to escape her.

_"Shamed into solitude;  
shunned by the multitude,  
I learned to listen.  
In my dark my heart heard music."_

Words wove themselves through her head, unbidden. Whispers of ghosts from long ago, intangible things she had never touched before. In his words, she heard a shame as deep as her own, a guilt that consumed him as it had consumed her. Self-loathing, a hatred that had fostered like a dark strangling vine nurtured by the words and deeds of a world that refused to understand him. A world that had scorned and derided him. That had beaten and tortured him. An acid, eating away at resolve, at the hope of acceptance, at the dreams of redemption. She heard isolation, the pleas of a secret and strange angel. An angel that had been ostracized from society by people that had never seen past the mask, the untouchable facade. Had never had the courage to discover the beauty behind the bestiality. _You made him this way! She cried out in her heart. You made him think himself a monster- a pariah! How is it that your shallow minds could not grasp the beauty and the love that he would have offered you? He had so much to offer you- so much he would have been willing to give if you had not driven him away!_

_ Why were you so cruel!_

A tear slipped down her cheek. _Why?_

_"I longed to teach the world,  
rise up and reach the world.  
No one would listen.  
I alone could hear the music."_

She choked mutely. She heard the aspirations of the wistful young boy he had been, the boy whose mother told him that he would have to make the world hear his beauty. His longing to fulfill her dreams for him- his dreams for himself. The longing to bring goodness and light to the world again. The longing to open their minds- their hearts-

Their souls.

But no one would listen to the angel- the dreamer of dreams. He stood isolated, in a vast empty space. They had forced him back into the shadows in an attempt to put out the light he offered them. He hid in the shadows they had driven him to while he tried to give them music. He could only give them the narrow music of the time- they would not hear the beauty of anything else. Only he could hear the strange melodies of humanity, the sound of souls crying out in the darkness, the joys and the terrors of life. The love and the hate. The laughter and the tears. He, who they had denied these things, heard them still, and translated them into melodies that bared the soul and denuded the secret wishes of the heart. She breathed in deeply. She had heard this music while she slept.

It was time to let him know that someone heard.

_"Than at last, a voice in the gloom seemed to cry-"_

She slipped into the song, voice swelling with the power that only seemed able to raise. A power that was beyond either of them. Her voice soared with it, she felt her spirit rise out after it. She heard, as she never heard before, the song of humanity.

_"I hear you!  
I hear your fears -  
your torment and your tears!"_

His head whipped around as she stepped into the long stretch of moonlight let in by the windows that arched from floor to ceiling. His eyes were aflame with song, wordless emotions. Bright and blazing, widened in shock. And... something like fear._ How long has it been since someone heard you, Erik? _She could feel tears gleaming on her cheeks, turned silvery in the moonlight. She felt ephemeral, as though the music had taken away the physicality of her body and there was only the soul left.

Only Christine.

He continued, voice husky, almost a murmur, a reverent prayer. Than it rose, strained and pained, as though he dared not quite believe.

_"She saw my loneliness, shared in my emptiness.  
No one would listen. No one but her... heard as the outcast hears."_

She crossed to him, knelt before him, taking his hands in hers. The moonlight glistened strangely on his eyes, on a twisting trail down the left side of his face. She touched it, her fingers slicked with tears. Reaching up, she cupped the back of his head, drew it down to hers and kissed away the tears. His eyes closed, veiling the agony, the desire and the terror that had burned brightly moments ago. His breath shuddered against her skin, his hands, limp at his side, found their way to her hair. He slid down to the floor beside her, arms enfolded and clung to her with a hesitant desperation.

_"No one would listen.  
No one but her- heard as the outcast hears."_

His lips sought hers, she molded her body to his, swamped by an overwhelming need for his touch, for the press of his body against hers. She needed the reassurance now as much as he did, that he was not merely a dream to fade away in the daylight. They met softly, moving in slow, careful exploration. There was a delicacy in the way he held her, tilted her head up to his. It was warm and sweet, engulfing and cradling her like the warm waves of the sea, gently rocking.

She drew back as he did. She did not know if it was her tears on her face or his. They clung to her lashes, she tried to blink them away.

She closed her eyes as Erik kissed each eyelid tenderly, stroking her cheek.

"I don't want you to be alone anymore, Erik." she whispered. Anything louder would break the pattern, shatter the magic that curled around them. She buried her head against his neck, letting the tears slide freely. "I'm here to listen now, Erik'

'I'll always be here to listen."

"Christine." The low, breathless murmur of her voice was almost reverent. She tilted her head back to see his eyes shining with their own light a trembling, starry fire. She felt a tremor run through their bodies, and held him closer.

His arms tightened against her back. His eyes, endlessly weary, began to glimmer with hope. It was the first time, she realized, that she had seen it. She drew him up, led him to the couch against His hand was tensed in hers. She turned back to him as they stretched out. He held her in his arms, she leaned against his chest and let her head drop back on his shoulder. "I love you, Erik." Her eyes sought his. "Stay with me?"

His lips brushed her hair chastely. "Forever."

Tonight, she knew, was the moment when she knew she loved him. Knew beyond all doubt. Tonight, it was enough merely to be with him, to breathe as he breathed, to hear her heart beat as his beat. Tonight, it was enough to have his company in sleep, a warm and human presence.

Tomorrow they could begin- together.

Erik

She was a whisper of song in his arms, an emotional wellspring of forgiveness, empathy, acceptance. He felt the tears come and let them spill unashamedly. Tonight, he had been heard. His prayers had been answered. By a woman so angelic, and yet so flawlessly human. Who had called out for him, reached for him and held him in her arms. Who kissed the tears away. A woman who could have cared less about the mask, or what it hid. Who had not even asked, only... accepted. A woman who slept now in his arms without fear. With... love.

"I love you, Christine." he whispered against the silky curls. "And I will never leave you."

She breathed out a contented sigh.

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**Far from done here, wonderful readers. But- lovely, no? I love tender EC moments.**

**Review, tell me what you think!**

**cookies n' hugs**

**Lee **


	15. And Do You Love Her?

**Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or any of the associated characters/music. Or The Corrs songs. I only borrow them for the purpose of entertaining.**

**Thanks for the reviews- you guys are fabulous!**

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**And Do You Love Her?**

**Janet**

_She ran a barren field, grass sweeping her knees. Her father called behind her, she glanced back over her shoulder to look at him. _

_He was skeletal, frail. She felt nothing but contempt. There was no light to his eyes, no energy to his movements. He was a shell, pale, sickly.  
_

_The grass dried, brittle against her legs. Beneath her bare feet, she felt ash. Smoke curled around her, filling her nose and her throat. It stung her eyes, clung to her skin. There was nothing, only the sound of her short breathing. _

_"Janie!" he called. His voice was high- fragile. It was a child's name. The name of a naive young girl. She hated it. She stared at him levelly and did nothing._

_ "Janie." he called again. His voice broke. He fell to his knees, coughing weakly. She saw blood spot his lips, a vivd cry against the greyness all around. She did not go to him. _

_"Janie- come here Janie- please-"  
_

_Her fingers trembled. "You're pathetic." _

_The scene melted. They were on the streets, he leaning against her mother. He was ghostly, the bones showing starkly. There were suitcases beside them, her mother was ranting, pleading with a broad, fleshy man. She stared at what had been her home, than at the man who she had called her father._

_ He was oblivious to the world, numb to the fact that he had lost them their homes. Janet felt a fierce anger burning in her chest, searing and constricting her lungs. _

_A funeral. A cheap wooden coffin, pine, unvarnished, taunted her. She watched as it was lowered into the earth, feeling nothing but a hot anger. An anger that warmed her against the cold as no thin jacket would. _

_She watched, stone-faced, as her mother sobbed over the box, kneeling over the hole in the earth. She wondered why she cried. It was they that had been hurt. It was he who had left them to fend for themselves- alone. _

_It darkened. She was sitting on the floor, closet walls pressing against her. The thin walls did nothing to block out the sounds. Her mother hid her in here when nightfall came and the men began to call. _

_Just because she couldn't see them didn't mean she couldn't hear them. Loud, sometimes drunk out of their minds. Or smell them- reeking of alcohol and worse things. Smelling of the debauchery of the streets._

_ And then she was fourteen, and the bills increased. She had to help her mother pay the rent. It made her nauseous, a burning hatred for her mother's customers grew in her. An anger at her father for dying and leaving them to this life. The same crap, day after day, a sick feeling, a drain on the body and soul. Night after night of drunken bruises and raucous laughter, strange and nameless faces. Nights of her mother's screams and whimpers. _

_She never screamed. She never cried out. It was a matter of pride. She would not show weakness. _

_She would never show weakness._

Janet woke with a start, looked around in surprise.

Than it all came flooding back. Erik, the bitch. Stealing her keys, breaking into her flat. She threw open the closet door, looked out of the window. And breathed a sigh of relief. The moon was high overhead.

_Stupid, Janet._ she told herself. _What if you had been caught? _She shook away the dreams. Memories were only memories. Those who dwelled in the past were fools. There was only the present and the future. Nothing else mattered.

**Meg**

She turned off the radio with a sigh. Commercials, commercials, commercials.

_I wonder how Christine's holding up. _She had looked relieved after lunch yesterday, Meg could only assumed she had talked with Erik.

She had also looked drained. Whatever they had talked about had taken a great deal out of her. Meg eyed her phone speculatively._ Nothing like a morning pick-me-up to make her feel better._

She dialed the number and laid back against the chair.

She picked up after three rings. "Hello?" She sounded as though she had just woken up.

Meg smiled. "Morning, Christine."

"Is it?" Christine sounded vaguely surprised.

Meg smothered a laugh. "Was it one of those nights, Christine?" She brightened. "C'mon, have brunch with me. We can have a girl talk and you'll feel better in no time."

"You aren't going to take no for an answer are you?" Her voice was amused rather than irritated. "Of course not." Meg replied cheerfully. "So, I'll see you in twenty minutes? I still remember the way to your apartment."

"Actually, Meg..."

"What?" she asked.

"I'm at Erik's place."

Meg's mind went blank.

"I lost my keys and then- oh, it's a long story. But brunch sounds great." A pause. "Meg?" Christine sounded concerned. "Meg, are you there?"

Meg fought a hysterical bubble of laughter. "I'm still here. So, you're at Erik's. That's um... I'll see you in twenty."

"See you."

Meg closed the phone and let it fall, giving herself over to laughter.

**Christine**

Meg looked highly amused when Christine got into the car. "You look tired."

Christine flushed. "It wasn't like that."

Meg smiled wickedly at her. "Of course it wasn't. Is Erik tired too?" She laughed as Christine whacked her arm. Christine could feel her cheeks redden. "As it happens, we both fell asleep on the couch."

Meg sighed dramatically. "You disappoint me, Christine."

"Some of us actually sleep at night."

The dancer raised a blonde eyebrow at her. "How dull."

They made their way to the surprisingly empty cafe. Meg threw her an inquiring glance. "So what _did_ happen?"

Christine gave her a mysterious smile. Meg shook her fork at her. "You are a cruel person, Christine Daae. Tell me what happened."

"I lost the key to my flat."

"And you called Erik."

Christine smiled at the mischief in Meg's eyes. "Who's telling this story?"

Meg grinned and waved her on. "Sorry."

"I called Erik. Joseph showed up before he got there."

Meg's eyebrows shot up. "Tell me he got the living daylights beaten out of him."

Christine smiled. "Not exactly. But I don't think he'll be feeling too chipper this morning."

Meg snorted. "I'm surprised Erik didn't maul him."

"Erik didn't touch him."

"You hit him?" A delighted smile spread across her face. "That's great!"

Christine laughed. "You are a wicked child. Yes. And then Erik and I drove back to his home. We talked about Raoul."

"And a wild night of passion ensued?"

Christine smiled at her hopeful expression. "No. No mind-blowing passion. I woke up some time in the night and heard him playing." She fell silent. It seemed too personal a thing to tell.

Meg didn't seem to mind. "I _wish_ I knew for sure if he had a brother."

Christine kept a straight face. "I'll let you know if he does."

"I will be eternally grateful."

"Does that mean you'll stop stealing my strawberries?"

**Nadir**

He was sure something was wrong.

"Erik. You're... cheerful..."

The man raised an eyebrow at him, smiled. "Is there any particular reason I shouldn't be?"

"Erik," Nadir said slowly, "You are_ humming._"

He looked startled, then amused. "Is it really that irritating, Nadir?"

Nadir's eyes fell upon a familiar bracelet.

"Christine was here, wasn't she?"

"Astute of you."

"Erik, you didn't-?" Nadir asked in exasperation.

"No, Nadir. Do calm down. Remember your blood pressure."

Nadir rubbed his temples. _Oh, for a simple and uncomplicated life._ "Fine. Fine. That's not what I came here to talk about."

"Which is?"

"We're having difficulties with the Christmas gala." Nadir winced. _Difficulties_ was an understatement.

Nadir started as Erik half-smiled. "Of course. It wouldn't be Christmas if we didn't."

"Am I to believe, then, that you are not going to take off heads this time?" he asked cautiously.

Erik raised an eyebrow, smirked. "Why Nadir, whatever gave you that idea?"

Nadir sighed. "Just get in the car."

Ten minutes later they were cruising around looking for a parking space.

"I swear," Nadir said, annoyed. "Every loiterer in the city has decided to park their car in the Opera parking lot."

"Walking never hurt anyone, Nadir." Erik appeared amused at his discomfort.

"You know," Nadir sighed. "I think I preferred you grouchy. At least you would have agreed with me then."

It was a half-mile walk to the Opera House when they did find a parking space.

"Hey!" Nadir started as a broad, scruffy man marched purposefully toward them. Beside him, he felt the relaxation drain from Erik and a chill emanate from him.

"Joseph Buquet." Erik drawled, eyebrows raised sardonically. "This is a surprise." Nadir suppressed a shiver. Erik's eyes had gone an icy shade of blue.

"Where is Christine?" the man hissed. His hands were curled into fists, dark eyes smoldering.

"Christine is safe- and I intend to keep it that way. Don't you think you've hurt her enough?" His voice was perfectly level, arms crossed over his chest. Nadir felt a chill trace his spine.

The man's eyes snapped with fury. "If you hadn't interfered-"

"Oh, yes," Erik shot back acidly. "You would be hitting her still like the coward you are." His voice was meant to sting.

The man hissed and Erik slid to the side of the fist that was thrust at him. He caught it, bent back the wrist savagely, with complete calm. The man paled as Erik stared down at him from his greater height. "Do not think you can hit me as you hit her. She won't stand for it now and neither will I."

He paled further as Erik bent the wrist back yet further, and then released it.

"Should you attempt to hurt Christine again, I promise you'll have far more to worry about than a charge of domestic violence."

Erik stepped around him carelessly. Nadir caught a glimpse of his face and felt a coldness spread through his body. He stepped away from the man glaring after them in anger and fear and caught up to Erik.

"Was that who I think it was?"

"Christine's ex? Yes. I don't believe he'll be bothering her again anytime soon." Erik's voice was deceptively light. His hands trembled slightly, he shoved them in his pockets. "So, Nadir," Erik continued calmly, "what last-minute difficulties exactly is the gala presenting?"


	16. And Though The World May Change

**Disclaimer: Don't own The Corrs. Don't own POTO.**

**Thank you for the reviews- they are very much appreciated, and I apologize for being a bit behind schedule. I hope this makes up for it. :) **

**cookies n' hugs**

**Lee**

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**And Though The World May Change**

**Janet**

She glanced through the photos she'd taken of the letters between the bitch and her fiance. She had never seen an engagement ring on her finger. In her mind, there were two possibilities. One, that they'd broken apart. _Unlikely._ Janet thought, with a bite of bitter envy that caught in her throat, looking over the photos of the bitch and her Raoul. Smiling at each other. Touching, embracing, cradling. Bile rose in her at the sunlit images, something raw and hating burning inside of her. A sickened hatred and jealousy that clawed its way up inside her. The tenderness between them made her heart pound loudly in her ears, a horrible hollowness grow in the middle of her chest.

The alternative, the other possibility, was more appealing. It brought a heady rush of satisfaction to her. A bite of bittersweet peace that drained away the acidic anger.

He was dead. He was dead and she had not had the courage to move on. She, weak creature that she was, had flown to another man, had never stood on her own. Had never known what it was to struggle alone. Not that sheltered, insipid creature who dared approach her Erik. It was almost incomprehensible that he should put up with her, that powerless, dependent, manipulating bitch.

Perhaps she was still not completely over his death. Janet shivered with the sudden rush of adrenaline that pulsed through her veins. The idea gave her something like a high, a euphoria that made her breath catch. Her eyes widened as a possibility struck her, she looked at the wide gray ones that met hers in the mirror.

_ Perhaps you miss him still, bitch? How sad. I think it's time you and he were together again. _

_Past time._

**Christine**

"Are you sure you want to do this, Christine?"

She glanced over at him. His eyes were intent on hers, vividly blue in the pale, grey-washed daylight. He took her hand as they coasted to a stop, caressed the palm. His eyes never left hers.

She smiled reassuringly at him. "I'm sure. It's... something I need to do." She ducked out of the car into the watery sunlight and gazed at the scene around her. A chill wind frosted her cheeks, tugging at her hair before dwindling to a memory. She shivered. After the heat of the car this coldness was numbing.

It was peaceful. Snow covered the quiet landscape, frosting sculptures and headstones. It was a restful place of gray and white and palest blue. Christine's fingers tightened on the daffodils she held, worrying the velvety petals. She glanced up to Erik, eyes voicing a plea. He mer her eyes and offered a reassuring smile.

He walked at her side, an arm around her shoulders holding her close. She leaned into him, grateful for the warmth and the comfort of it.

They paused and came to a halt in front of a headstone adorned with an angel in flight. Christine knelt beneath the deep blue shadows of the winter tree and placed the flowers in a cavity beside the grave. They made a bright splash of color against the paleness, a touch of spring on a winter's day.

Time had yet to blur the inscriptions.

_Raoul DeChagany, Love and Beloved_

_ Think of all the things we've shared and seen  
Don't think about the way things might have been_

She touched the cold stone gently. Behind her she sensed Erik, watching and waiting patiently, guarding. She closed her eyes and felt the snow-covered cemetery slip away. Until, in the silence, she could feel him.

She could feel him.

_Raoul. How I've missed you. I wake sometimes and find that I've been dreaming of when we were children. The days where summer seemed as though it would never end, a continuous cycle of sunny days and nights filled with fireflies. I wake and I know I've been dreaming about simply lying on green hillsides with you and watching the world go by. I dream, and I'm standing with you on the shore again, under the sun with my feet sinking into the sand and the waves around my ankles. _

_You meant so much to me, Raoul. I don't think I ever told you how much. Did you ever know what it was to have you there beside me when I cried? When I fell and thought I would never have the will to get to my feet? Did you know what it was to me when you were there to offer me a hand- to help me up again? _

_I loved you, Raoul, I love you still. And I know you loved me. Perhaps more than I deserve. I know it with every glance you ever sent me, every touch and smile you ever gave me. Every whisper in the night and every kiss in the morning. With every countless time you shielded me from the world. _

_I don't have you there to shield me anymore, Raoul. You won't ever be there again to break my fall or offer me a shoulder to lean on. I can't ever go back to what we had between us. _

_I've learned to stand on my own. I've learned what it is to heal after your heart is dying. I've learned of things that strike the heart like lightening. I've heard things in the night that I never dreamed existed. I've felt them moving through me. _

_I've learned that I am still capable of love after all. _

_Would you be happy if I chose my love for him? If I decided that I didn't need to be lonely anymore? I think you would. He makes me so happy, Raoul. And I know that's all you ever wanted for me. _

_I think it's time, Raoul._

_I think it's time for me to learn to live again._

**Erik**

What was she thinking of, with that mournful, tender smile on her lips? Her eyes were downcast, the dark lashes veiling the chestnut eyes. Snowflakes starred her hair, swirling around the two of them and leaving a cold kiss on their skin. She stroked the pale stone silently, head bowed. Around them the snow swirled in silence. He looked on as her lips moved faintly, mouthing words too soft for him to hear. She smiled briefly, caressed the cold stone.

Then she rose from the ground, brushing snow from her knees. She looked up and smiled at him, a smile of such heart-stopping sweetness that he felt the breath driven out of him.

He glanced at the daffodils, swaying rhythmically in the breeze. _You two were fortunate. I only hope that if she chooses to stay, I can make her as happy as you did. I hope I can make her smile. _

_I always want to see her smiling._

**Christine**

Erik's eyes wandered to the smooth stone. She saw a kind of nostalgia on his face, an care for the boy he had never met, who had made her so happy.

_ You would like him, Raoul._

Her feet stirred through the snow until she reached him. Christine rested her head against his heart, arms tight around his waist. She closed her eyes, listening to the steady beat as the snow came softly down.

She felt his arms come around her, the sudden rush of warmth as he kissed her hair. His coat warmed underneath her skin, the sound of their breathing was the only sound on that quiet day.

They stood and watched the snow come softly down.

**Erik**

"Erik?" she asked. Her voice was a whisper. Her back pressed against him as his hands tightened on her waist.

"Hmm?"

"Did you grow up- I mean- is your mother... here?"

He looked out across the snow-field. "Yes."

"May we-?"

He recalled with painful clarity the last time he had visited her. _Too long ago. Far too long, Mother. _Days ago. He had meant to come and see her sooner. Had meant to come to her final resting place, where he could talk to her in complete silence. Where he could sing to her as he once did, only to her.

Erik's eyes wandered over the stones. _What would you think of her, Mother? _

Christine was looking up at him expectantly. "Of course." he answered quietly. "This way." He kept an arm around her waist as they made their way deeper into the realm of snow and silence.

Around them the world was white.

**Christine**

He was unusually silent, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. When she looked up at him, his eyes were not on this world. They were open to another world, frosted with memories. They had the sharp clarity of ice, and yet the same remoteness.

She could feel him reliving something, something that made him tense, tightened the sensuous mouth. She could feel it running through him, an electricity under his veins. The way his arm had tightened on her waist of its own accord.

Snow crunched under their feet as they made their way deeper into the silence. Even the wind had stilled. The air hung heavy, cold and still. Christine found it suddenly harder to breathe. Erik seemed to be walking through a dream now; she glanced up at him as they made their way through the cemetery. His breathing was tight.

He stopped. "Here." His voice was so quiet as to be lost among the stillness. He ran his hand along the curved lines, fingers lingering on the praying angel.

Christine lay a tentative hand on the cold stone. The inscription on the smooth marble was simple.

_Antoinette Destler _

_An angel in the darkness_

In the hollow by the grave, browned roses waved wearily, proudly. Erik brushed them gently with his fingertips. "I had her headstone replaced after I... after I was discovered by the Opera."

She touched his cheek gently. "I'm sure she'd love it."

His fingers caught and held hers, as though they would never let go.

**Erik**

How does one introduce someone to a ghost? Erik almost smiled at the whimsy of it.. He closed his eyes and let the scent of the roses wash over him. She had worn a perfume like it once, he remembered faintly the scent of roses and lilac from his childhood. The first breath of hope among the scent of decay in the streets. He breathed in deeply, released it. Took another. _Mother... this is Christine Daae. My other angel. I... I love her. I've never been so content to be in another's presence. _

_She hears the music as you and I did._

She was with him now, he could sense her. She was with him in the silence, touching a gentle hand to his shoulder. He could feel her love, her pride, coursing through him. The same flow of emotion, the same tenderness she had shown him when she sat in his music lessons and listened, rapt and dreaming. The same tenderness with which she had kissed his forehead before he fell into dreams, shielded him from the bruises on her body.

He could see the shaking half-smile she would give him after his father had finished with her. _It's all right, Erik. It's all right. Why don't you practice your music? Mother needs to lie down for a moment. Everything is all right._ The tears he would sometimes catch, as they fell, glittering like rain, when she did not turn away quite fast enough. The tears he could feel falling on his hair as she held him and would not let him see her face.

_Mother... I've lived so long without love. After your death... the foster homes. They could never hear it, Mother, the music in the night. I tried, oh God, I tried to make them hear it._

_But they couldn't.  
_

_I'm grateful that you're safe now. That you can listen to Heaven's own choirs, as you always told me you would be able to. Although I wish you were here to share this with me. You would have loved her. _

_ I've been alone ever since that night, Mother. I've wandered in winter for so many years. So many years.  
_

_I'm not alone anymore._

Erik felt her hand curl around his own; he glanced sidelong and Christine offered him a tentative smile. He felt the tension fall away, the gesture mirror on his own features. _I'm not alone anymore._

It began to rain.

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**Lee **


	17. Hopelessly Addicted, Helplessly Attracte

**Disclaimer: Don't own POTO. Don't own the Corrs. (sigh) Maybe someday. I can dream**

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**Lee**

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**Hopelessly Addicted, Helplessly Attracted**

**Janet**

_She is fourteen again. _

_The room is dank, the smell of mildew and sweat hangs in the air, choking her. It is hot, swelteringly, sickeningly hot. The heat that breeds disease, the heat of poverty. Janet hears distant moans and shrieks and closes her ears to them, staring at the girl in the mirror. Soon it will be her that gives voice to those terrible cries. Soon it will be her that sells herself to faceless, nameless strangers.  
_

_The girl who stares back at her is wraithlike, fragile-seeming and thin. Wide, opaque gray eyes filled with secrets stare back. They stare with challenge in there depths, and something more. It is difficult to look into them for too long, the predatory maelstroms. _

_Pale hair cut choppily short falls around her face in a waifish manner. The eyes are long-lashed, enhanced with mascara and eyeliner. They are darkened in a milk-pale face. She looks almost childlike, save for the clinging, sheer clothes that reveal more than they hide. But no child would know the things she did, no_ child _would survive the rape of her innocence. _

_Janet would survive it. She had already promised herself this. She would survive the ravages of her body. She would survive the bruises and the curses and the filthy, groping caresses of the scum of the gutter as they whispered dark things to her. She would survive it. She would rise above this pathetic existence.  
_

_She had to._

_ Her mother opens the door with a loud creaking of hinges. The stale air moves, dust stirring._

_ Janet looks over impassively. Her mother's eyes have crow's feet at the corners, she is prematurely aged, though she may try to hide it with a heavy layer of make-up. Her eyes are tired, dull. There is no energy to her movements. She has given up.  
_

_Janet feels a fresh surge of rage against the father who died and left them to live like this. How could he have claimed to love them if he abandoned them? _

_She hates him.  
_

_"Janet." her mother's voice is raspy with the smoke that fills her lungs, the blackness in them. The only thing she seems to live for anymore. That stirs her from this wretched house to the dreary world beyond. "It's time." _

_"I know." Janet replies scornfully, dismissively. She will survive this. _

_She is not weak. She will survive this. Her mother leaves her with a stranger, a man whose face is pockmarked, the eyes and skin yellowed with the liquor that is slowly killing him. He smells of cheap alcohol and smoke. It stings her nose, though Janet does not show it. She feels nothing but distaste for him.  
_

_He doesn't seem to care. His eyes are not on her face. They roam her body, invading, baring the lean, thin frame. She feels her clothes fall away under that half-drunk gaze and bloodlust pounds through her. She wants to hurt him. _

_"Come over here." his voice is slurred. He reaches out a rough hand for her, her hands clench as it slides over her skin, leaving a trail of sweat and dirt on her pale skin. She feels contaminated by his very presence. Inside her, despite herself, there is a fear budding. _

_ He jerks off the shoulder of her shirt, she is suddenly grateful for the poor lighting that makes it difficult to make out the broad, coarse features.  
_

_But it is not dark enough to mask what is in his murky eyes, dwelling in the very depths of the mire of them. Lust. Her stomach churns, she knows this is wrong. His rough hands seem to leave a mark on her, a stigma of sin, of perversity._

_ He crushes her to him suddenly, his voice indistinct, impaired by drink and other things. Her scorn begins to vanish under a mounting fear. She feels his nails scrape at her skin as he digs his fingers into her; she hears the hiss of cloth torn. _

_It vanishes into a sea of sensation. Pain, pain, Oh God, the pain. An agony that reaches to her entrails, an angry brand being forced against her skin. Her bones are being crushed beneath the weight, her lungs collapsing. He has a knife, no one told her he had a knife. He's cutting her, she sees the blood, so red against her white skin. So red, so red. _

_She hears a whimper faintly. He wears a predatory grin, the twisted face descends on her, the decay of his breath flooding hers. She chokes._

_ He's enjoying her fear. He holds the knife before her eyes, begins to stroke it almost lovingly over her cheekbone, leaving a hot, sticky trail. She feels the tears start, chokes them back. She won't cry. She can't cry. She has to be strong. _

_He holds the knife against her lips. The blood slides between them, she spits it back into his face in a last attempt at bravado._

_ He backhands her. She feels a tearing at her throat and realizes that she is trying to scream. She forces it back.  
_

_She won't scream.  
_

_His hands close around her neck, he watches as she gags and coughs helplessly, flailing under him. She can feel the bruises form, dark, purpling things. Spots and stripes dance across her vision, fireworks bursting behind her eyes. Her lungs burn. Air, she needs air. _

_"Help-" she chokes out. Her voice is thin. indistinct. "Someone-" The hands tighten, her eyes begin to roll up. She feels her muscles go lax, her mind slow and numb. The pain begins to recede before a fresh stab rocks her again. _

_She screams. _

_Suddenly, the weight is thrown off of her. A coat is wrapped around her naked body, she feels a protective warmth against her. There is a voice murmuring into her ear, an angelic voice that she wants to close her eyes and drown in. To her shame, she feels tears start at the corners of her tightly shut eyes. He holds her to him, arms firm and warm around her, he doesn't seem to care that he holds a leper, a pariah. "It's all right, it's all right. You're safe now." _

_She sobs against his shirt. And looks up to see hypnotizing blue eyes intent on hers, the color of the sky outside of her window. Dark hair falls into the strange, potent eyes. She is entranced for a moment. They are endless, farseeing, in his older face. She guesses him to be in his twenties. _

_Then she notices the strange white half-mask on the right side of his face. Oddly, she does not fear it. She clings still more tightly to him._

_ A shout from below makes her dig her fingers into his skin suddenly. He flinches, looks at the open doorway. The madame, a heavyset, muscular woman, fills the door frame. Janet shivers._

_ The woman takes in the situation, the man slumped on the floor, the stranger holding one of her girls. And only holding. _

_Her eyes, already thin, narrow. _

_"I'll pay for the time he had." The strange man offers. Janet does not shrink away as she would have. Somehow, there is the knowledge that he will not harm her. That he will grant her, however briefly, peace. _

_The madame's lips purse. His arm tightens around her. "Twice the amount." _

_"Three times.'" The woman snaps, arms crossed in a decisively authoritative manner. Her large frame swells as she glares at them imposingly._

_ "Done." he replies, melodic voice swift. She scans his face as though memorizing it, then sweeps away imperiously._

_ He shifts the body out of the room as she sits down. "Thank you." Her voice is small, high, thin. The voice of a child. _

_He looks back at her and his clear eyes are filled with pain. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This shouldn't be happening to you." He wipes away the make-up and blood gently, she closes her eyes against the soothing touch. _

_She sobs, letting the tears flow. He sits by her, she buries her head against his neck. He's safe. He won't harm her, and that's all she cares about at the moment. She feels his hand stroke her hair soothingly, a gesture she has not felt since... _

_She closes her eyes against the warm skin, listening to the pulse underneath her ear. "Why are you here?" she whispers. _

_ "I was here to see my aunt. Before she passed away. She has- had- syphilis. I had to see her before she died." _

_Janet doesn't ask him her name. She feels him tense against her at the memories, wraps her arms around his waist and lays her head against his collarbone. "Thank you again."  
_

_"Do you want to talk about it?" _

_She shudders, feels a gasping sob force its way up her throat. "No. I ca-can't. Please don't make me-"_

_ "It's all right." he murmurs softly against her hair. "You're all right, I won't make you do anything you don't want to."  
_

_She hiccups, looks up at him. "Will you come back?" His eyes are bright on hers. His lips part to answer-  
_

_There is a loud crashing sound as the door slams open. Janet shrieks and huddles against him as the nameless man stormed in, weaving, but still dangerous. In his hand glinted the knife, still reddened with her blood, now crusting over on the metal. _

_He shoves her behind him. They struggle for a moment, than the white half-mask goes flying and shatters. He claps his hand to the side of his face, crying out. She rushed to his side. Briefly she catches a glimpse of heavy scarring, an angry red. The skin welted and lacerated, the eyelid drooping._

_ She doesn't care. She clutches at him as the stranger paces toward them with heavy, predatory steps, like a tiger. He seems unable to move, she shakes him. _

_The man tears them apart. Janet shrieks as he is thrown against the wall. She hears something crack. Her savior stares wild-eyed at him, seeming not altogether to realize what is happening. _

_The man throws him bodily into the hall, slams the dead bolt across the door._

_ He turns to Janet._

Janet woke with a gasp, heart pounding. She stared wildly into the darkness as if expecting him to appear. She realized her cheeks were tear-soaked, scrubbed at them angrily.

This was what she dreamed. This was what she relived, her most beautiful dream and most terrifying nightmare.

This was her childhood.

Janet shivered, reached out into the emptiness beside her. He wasn't there. Her angel wasn't there to comfort her as he had been that day. A despair and a darkness shadowed her as she turned her face to the moonlight that slanted over her bed. _I've lived with you for so long. Ever since that day. I dream of you. I think of you upon waking. I hear your voice in my mind, I feel your eyes upon me in my sleep. And yet in the daylight you don't see me. _

_My savior, my angel, I need you here, beside me. I need you as I once did. It is weak of me- so weak, I know. But I need you. I love you. Ever since that day, I've loved you. I'll never love another. I love you._

_ I remember you. Why don't you remember me?_

**Erik**

_He was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming, but it was so terribly familiar, like a long-forgotten secret. _

_He was at his aunt's home; he had just come from seeing her, deteriorating from syphilis and not long for this world. _

_He heard screams. He winced. In this place, it was only to be expected. _

_But it was not the cry of any woman or man. It was the scream of a child. God!- He rushed toward the sound as it climbed higher, thin and terrified. _

_Ramming the door with his shoulder, he rushed in. A man with a knife was over a girl-child, her face nearly mindless with fear, eyes wide and hypnotizing, bordering on madness. _

_The man didn't see him. Erik threw him to the side, his head collided with the wall with a sickening crunch. But he was far from dead. Only unconscious. He knelt by the girl, wrapping his coat around her shivering body. _

_Some semblance of sanity entered her eyes. He held her, trying to comfort her. "It's all right, it's all right. You're safe now." Her eyes were dangerous, a fathomless, liquid gray and filled with fear. She buried her head against his shoulder, he feels water sliding across his skin. Sobs rack the too-thin body._

_ Suddenly she looks up at him, tears still flowing. He freezes under the wide-eyed gaze, as though she's looking straight into him. The pale gray eyes are like unclouded water. Colorless and endless, shimmering. _

_A shriek broke the moment, their heads whipped as one to the door, where a large woman stood with an ominous, aggressive air. The girl's finger's tightened on his shoulders, gripping almost to the bone. Her fear was palpable.  
_

_The words were out of him before he realized what he was saying. "I'll pay for the time he had."  
_

_Her lips thinned shrewdly. He felt the girl shiver against him and spoke again. "Twice the amount." Her heart pounded against his like a frantic bird. _

_"Three times." the woman retorted, sensing his desperation. Eager to be rid of her, for the girl in his arms to have peace, he agreed swiftly.  
_

_"Done." _

_The woman looked over him, memorizing his face before disappearing. Some of the tension left him. He slid from the girl to toss the man out of the room inelegantly._

_ A voice behind him spoke, high, birdlike. "Thank you."  
_

_He looked back at the girl, staring at him, the fear of minutes ago still there in her eyes, but fading. Thank God. He felt a wave of pity for her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This shouldn't be happening to you." A child, an innocent child! Anger swept through him at the world that allowed a young girl to suffer such evil. He seated himself by her. Her breathing was still uneven, the pupils dilated. The scent of fear still clung to her. Tears still flowed, her mascara was in ruins, eyeliner and blood in dark smudged trails down her pale face. He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, wiped the grime off of her face. She moved toward him, holding tightly to him, hands clenched against him. She laid her head against his neck, gasping sobs shaking her._

_ "Why are you here?"_

_ It was a moment before he realized that she was asking why he had come to this place at all. He gave her a short explanation about his aunt, feeling himself tense. She, thankfully, didn't question him further.  
_

_Her arms wrapped around his waist with youthful, innocent trust. "Thank you again." her clear voice was hoarse with crying. _

_He hesitated. "Do you want to talk about it?"  
_

_Her eyes flew up to his, she shakes. "No. I ca-can't. Please don't make me-" _

_He was startled at the force with which her terror returned. He strokes her hair calmingly. "It's all right. You're all right. I won't make you do anything you don't want to."  
_

_A hiccup, then she calmed. Her eyes sought his, wistful, pleading. "Will you come back?" They are impossibly bright in the darkness. He began to answer-  
_

_-and was interrupted by a cracking noise. His eyes flew to the door as it jerked open. The girl cried out and clung to him as the man who had hurt her staggered in. Erik's heart leapt at the sight of the wickedly gleaming knife, darkened where her blood had dried. _

_He thrust the girl behind him, met the man as he crashed towards them. The knife flew out of his grip, skittering across the floor._

_ Then his mask was airborne. His head turned to follow it, heart plunging into his stomach as it hit the wall and shattered. He felt himself thrown back by the stockier, older man. His back hit the wall with a crack and a jolt of pain that he ignored. Automatically, his hand rose to cover the marred right side of his face._

_ The girl was across the room in an instant, clinging to him, shaking him. She caught sight of his face- and didn't flinch away. She held on more tightly. He had no time to realize this revelation.  
_

_The man advanced on them both, ripping her from him and heaving him out of the room. He struggled to his feet, lunged at the door. The man smiled grimly and slammed it shut. Erik heard the thud of a dead bolt.  
_

_It was followed by screams._

Erik woke. His heart pounded, blood racing through him, mind on fire. Why had he remembered that, tonight of all nights?

He looked beside him. Lit by moonlight, Christine slept peacefully, face serene and body relaxed. Erik sat up, rubbing his left temple.

Why had he remembered that?

* * *

**Well. I hope that one came out of the left field. **

**Lee **


	18. Loving You All The Time

**Disclaimer: I own only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters. Thanks for all of the reviews- you guys are FABULOUS!**

**cookies n' hugs **

**Lee**

**

* * *

**

**Loving You All The Time**

**Erik**

The cemetery was cold under the night. Cold and silent, a vast world of unspoken presence. It pressed in all around him, the dark sky flickering with pinpricks of light, the bare and unmoving trees holding up their branches in supplication to the unwavering stars.

The air was still, as still as though he stood in the center of the world's axis. The storm's eye. The clean, sharp scent of snowfall imbued the air, a silvery scent, a calming one. It brushed his skin as he walked through the gravestones. The flowers were darkly lit, like the last embers of a dying fire.

He reached the grave he was looking for.

_Marie Destler_

_Beloved_

And discovered that there was already someone there. A pale-haired someone who knelt in the snow, frail body intent, breath puffing out in unsteady clouds. He felt a vague familiarity prick the air.

She looked up at him and Erik felt a shock reverberate in him. "Janet King?"

The moon made bright streaks on her face where the tear tracks shone. Her eyes were wide and colorless in the moonlight, almost a reflection of its light. There was an odd look in them a nostalgia, a heart-deep aching weariness. And something that lingered just underneath the surface, a plea. He felt suddenly uneasy, there was something in the back of his mind, a thought that he couldn't quite touch. "Did you know her?"

She laughed. It was a short sound, the merest breath. But there was a bitterness to it, an incredulity. Something that bordered the fine line between hysteria and madness.

"I was there that last night you visited her." There was a fevered intensity around her, a magnetizing desperation in her eyes. She ignored the light snowfall, unflinching as a snowflake touched her face with a cold kiss before melting and beading, small and shining as it slid down her cheek.

The eyes of a child looked up at him.

Erik felt the breath drive out of him. Her eyes were intent upon his face, pleading. For a moment, his mind went completely blank.

Than his thoughts were all tumbling over one another, like ripples of a downpour upon a lake. Fast and fleeting, overlapping in wild discord, gone so quickly it was almost impossible to comprehend them.

"You-" he managed. His lungs felt constricted, his mind was on fire. "You were the girl." _Impossible. Impossible._ His mind repeated in a mechanical litany.

He knew differently.

Tears started anew at the corners of her eyes. A corner of her mouth lifts, the gesture more a grimace than anything else. She seemed blind to all else. "I still am that girl." She breathed in deeply, let it out in a rush of white that diffused in the cold night. Her voice lowered, as though she sat in a confessional. Intimate, almost afraid. "You saved me that night."

He shook his head. Strange electricity ran through his veins, making it difficult to think clearly. But not difficult to remember. "No- no I didn't. I let him get to her- you- again. I didn't stop him the second time." He was reliving that dark day again, feeling the frail young girl against him, her eyes drawing him in with their bleak imploration. As though he would drown in the eyes nearly mindless with fear.

She rose. She was still painfully thin, as she had been that day. Still so fragile, as though the world would break her like a child snapped the stem of a flower encased in ice. She shook her head slowly in negation. She stared straight into him, still the clear-eyed child. "No, Erik. But you gave me hope." The endless, almost translucent eyes looked into the core of him. "Since that night, I thought of you whenever the pain was too much. You were the angel who carried me through the years. I lived for you. I lived to meet you once again."

She reached out and touched his unmasked cheek, he was numb to the sensation, the sedative of memories running through his veins. Her fingers trembled, her hand dropped back to her side. "I lived to meet you not as a child, but as a woman." Her eyes were almost hypnotic in their fervored intensity. Her lips parted, her breath shuddered. A tear gathered, fell.

"I've loved you ever since that night. Like I've loved nothing and no one else." Her voice was soft, wistful. A broken smile passed over her face. "You're the only thing I've ever been able to love, Erik. Do you know what it means to me, to be able love something?" The winter-grey eyes were wide and shimmering, clear and liquid. "It's so beautiful to know that I can love. So beautiful- and so painful." her voice faded and fell. Her eyes dropped, closed. Points of light sparkled on the still lashes.

It was all crashing in on him too quickly. He was struggling to keep his head above the water in this strange dark ocean of memories. With the storms of her confession whipping the waters like a tempest. "Painful?" he asked, striving to bring this strange conversation to a point he could comprehend.

Her eyes flew up to his, pupils dilated until the blackness seemed to conquer her eyes and cheeks flushed. "Painful, Erik! How do you think it feels- to see you in the arms of another woman?" Her voice broke. "To see _love _in your eyes when you look at her? How do you think it feels to lose the only person who's ever cared about you to another!" The girl of so many years ago looked out at him from barren, despairing eyes.

A rush of something like empathy went through him. "Why didn't you tell me? At the theatre, when I first came?"

Her eyes were glazed, almost blinded, by pain. "I wanted to. More than anything. But- Erik, I was so afraid!" she cried. "So afraid you'd see what I'd become- so afraid you would judge me like everyone else has. So afraid you'd changed..." her voice dropped into nothingness. She shook, her entire body shivering like a wind-blown sapling.

He looked into the maelstrom of her eyes. Something urged him that this was a moment of change. Pity swept him for the girl who, like him, had dwelt so long in darkness. A compassion for another soul that had taught itself to be lonely. "I won't judge you." _You didn't judge me, when you saw my face that night. _

She wrapped her arms around her trembling body. "No." she shot back, hopelessness imbuing her words with dark shadows. "But you'll never love me either, will you? Oh God, Erik, my angel... my guardian angel..." Her words shuddered than evanesced. The night pressed in around them.

Pity stirred in him, for the child he had once comforted. _But I can't anymore. I can't be what you want of me, Janet._ He looked away. "I'm sorry, Janet." He felt his heart drop at the youthful fragility she exuded now. He could hear her as he once had._ Please, please. Help me- please! I need you.  
_

_I need you._

She gave a faint, bitter laugh. Her face was, for once, stripped bare of all its guards. All the anger and worldliness which served as her mask. He saw what lay beneath- and in its way, it was as pitiable and terrifying as what lay beneath his own. It was the look of a person who had lost all faith. Alone in the darkness and the silence.

So alone.

"Do you remember that night- when I saw your face?" she asked with a terrible nostalgia. Her face shone palely in the moonlight, eyes bright.

He flinched, brought out of his musings. "Yes." He remembered all too clearly how she had clung to him still. Her _deus ex machina_. Her guardian angel.

Her eyes were suddenly fierce, focused, falcon-like. "I loved you still. You were the only thing of beauty in my life, with or without a mask." She fumbled at her collar, slipped off the silver chain on her neck. Cradling it in her palms like a bird, she opened her hands. In her hands she cupped one of the shattered pieces of that mask that hung, pendant-like, from the chain. The edges were worn, smooth and gleaming dully.

His blood seemed to stop in his veins. A kind of guilt swamped him._ God, I never realized what that night would do to her. _Would it have been better if he had never answered her child's scream that night? Would it have been better if he had not brought her to this point- the obsession and blind conviction that had done nothing but shatter her in the end?

Her hands shook, she replaced the necklace. The rounded piece of the mask spun, gleaming in the moonlight before she caught it and tucked it once more against her skin. She looked up at him, and in her eyes was the same longing and irrevocable trust. "I loved you, Erik." Something in her seemed to shatter and release at the words, she was suddenly against him, clutching his collar as she had that night. "I love you!"

He started, stepping back. Fought to keep his head clear of the shock that pulsed through him at the wild, desperate eyes. The childlike grey that beseeched him, begged him. _Oh, God. What did I do that night?_

Her eyes were despairing on his. "Can't you see it, Erik? We were meant to meet again after that night. You and I have been bound since that night. _How can you tell another woman that you love her?"_

**Janet**

Her breath came harshly, burning coldly into her lungs. She stared at him, wide-eyed, as something passed fleetingly through his eyes. Inside, she felt a fracturing, a spreading cracking like ice that would all too soon shatter and explode into fire and blood.

"Janet," he began calmly, in the voice that had soothed her that night. She closed her eyes painfully. _God, Erik. Why can't you see? _

_I have to make you see. I can't- I can't lose you. Not you._

Her eyes flew open, she wanted to drown in the sky-colored eyes that were so turbulent, so glowing on hers. She tasted a bittersweetness, swallowed hard. _"How can you do this?" _To her shame, she felt tears slide coldly down her skin.

He did not reach to wipe them away as he had all those years ago.

His eyes were blazing, compassionate, pitying. She felt her nails dig into her palms_. Goddammit, I don't want your pity, Erik. I want so much more than that. Don't you understand?_

"One doesn't choose who they love, Janet." he began softly, firmly, in the seraphic voice that she longed to wrap herself in. She winced. "I never chose to love Christine. But I do. I love her, Janet. Whatever that night is to us, I love her still."

A choked sound scraped its way up her throat. She couldn't breathe.

He sighed, eyes softening, empathetic. He reached into his pocket, snowy linen coming away in his hand. His hand came to cup her face, she trembled at the warm hand against her jawline_. Oh, God. Erik._

She closed her eyes as the cloth glided across her face, taking the tears into itself. She felt a heat ripple through her at the touch, something that shivered her to her core. A brightness and an electricity that raced through her like wildfire, throwing off glowing sparks into the night that drifted up to the heavens. The sensation was so familiar, so painfully familiar.

She didn't ever want it to end. She could have stood there endlessly, under the night sky, for all eternity, if only she could share it with him. She wished it would never end.

But it did.

She opened her eyes again, pleading with the steady blue ones above her. "Somewhere out in the world, Janet, there are other arms to hold you." His voice flowed over her, into her, as no other did, sparking a painful longing. "Someone who can love you as I cannot. I can't offer you anymore than an illusion, Janet. And you deserve more than that."

She laughed disbelievingly, blood racing through her, mind in turmoil, spirit in agony. "I don't want anyone else, Erik. Can't you see? I'll never want anyone but you." Her voice came out strained and faint and she cursed it.

His eyes were fantastically, impossibly bright on hers. "It's only a dream you love, Janet."

"A dream that has kept me alive when I wanted nothing more than death!" She wanted to scream, to rage at him. How could he do this to her? How could her angel leave her after she had found him again- before she could share what she felt with him?

How could the angel who had saved her- murder her like this?

_"Erik- why!"_ She felt the girl of her youth staring out of her eyes, hopeless and beseeching. _"Why...?"_

But he did not comfort her. Not this time. He stepped back, blue eyes speaking a lament. "I don't know, Janet. I don't know."

She fell to her knees as he faded into the snowlit darkness. She did not even feel the tears as they fell.

_Angel..._

**Erik**

Behind him he heard a voice raised in song. It had not the unearthly beauty of his Christine, but there was a despair in it that shivered him at his core. He heard all of the sufferings of humanity cry out in the notes that echoed through the silent night. In the cold, impersonal world of white snow and stone, he heard something beating with a heart that bled with all the miasma and memories of earthly tragedy.

It was utterly human, a voice of agony, a broken heart that had been given voice.

It was the sound of something dying. High and clear, pursuing him to the parking lot, where the world still seemed empty.

It was still in his mind when he stepped over the threshold of his apartment.

_ I'm so sorry, Janet. If I had known what I would have done to you that day... I never meant to hurt you. _

_I never meant for this to happen. I'm so sorry, Janet. _

_Please- find peace, Janet. May you find a better angel._

He shed his coat. Christine still slept peacefully, a smile touching and warming her face. In the moonlight, it was as though some divine being slept in the silent room, radiant and shining under the mystical light in the darkness. He watched the rise and fall of her calm breathing, brushed a stray curl back from her face. She turned toward the touch, he smiled faintly._ I couldn't love anyone but her. I'll never love anyone else. She is my angel._

"I love you, Christine." he whispered.

Her fingers reached out and, in sleep, wrapped around his.


End file.
